i  .lA'sV 


807.73 

RkS5n_  Riley,  Jas.  W. 


AUTHOR 

c.2 


.J&212. 


Nye  and  Riley*  s 


wit  and  humor 


BORROWER'S  NAME 


807.7$  Riley,  Jas.  W. 

Nye  &  Riley*:s  wit  and 


6212 


NYE   AND    RILEY'S 


Wit  and  Humor 

(Poems  and  Yarns) 


BY 


JAMES  WHITCOMB  RILEY   &  BILL  NYE 


Ullustratefc 

BY  BARON  DE  GRIMM,    E.    ZIMMERMAN, 
WALT       MCDOUGALI,,       AND        OTHERS 


THOMPSON  &  THOMAS, 
CHICAGO. 


COPYRIGHT  1900, 

BY 
THOMPSON  &  THOMAS 


COPYRIGHT  1905 

BY 
THOMPSON  &  THOMAS. 


Biographical 


Edgar  Wilson  Nye  was  whole-souled,  big-hearted 
and  genial.  Those  who  knew  him  lost  sight  of  the 
humorist  in  the  wholesome  friend. 

He  was  born  August  25,  1850,  in  Shirley,  Piscataquis 
County,  Maine.  Poverty  of  resources  drove  the  family 
to  St.  Croix  Valley,  Wisconsin,  where  they  hoped  to 
be  able  to  live  under  conditions  less  severe.  After 
receiving  a  meager  schooling,  he  entered  a  lawyer's 
office,  where  most  of  his  work  consisted  in  sweeping 
the  office  and  running  errands.  In  his  idle  moments 
the  lawyer's  library  was  at  his  service.  Of  this  crude 
and  desultory  reading  he  afterward  wrote: 

"I  could  read  the  same  passage  to-day  that  I  did 
yesterday  and  it  would  seem  as  fresh  at  the  second 
reading  as  it  did  at  the  first.  On  the  following  day  I 
could  read  it  again  and  it  would  seem  as  new  and 
mysterious  as  it  did  on  the  preceding  day." 

At  the  age  of  twenty-five,  he  was  teaching  a  district 
school  in  Polk  County,  Wisconsin,  at  thirty  dollars  a 
month.  In  1877  he  was  justice  of  the  peace  in 
Laramie.  Of  that  experience  he  wrote : 

"It  was  really  pathetic  to  see  the  poor  little  miser- 
able booth  where  I  sat  and  waited  with  numb  fingers 
for  business.  But  I  did  not  see  the  pathos  which  clung 
to  every  cobweb  and  darkened  the  rattling  casement. 
Possibly  I  did  not  know  enough.  I  forgot  to  say  the 
office  was  not  a  salaried  one,  but  solely  dependent  upon 

5 


6  BIOGRAPHICAL 

fees.  So  while  I  was  called  Judge  Nye  and  frequently 
mentioned  in  the  papers  with  consideration,  I  was  out 
of  coal  half  the  time,  and  once  could  not  mail  my  let- 
ters for  three  weeks  because  I  did  not  have  the  neces- 
sary postage." 

He  wrote  some  letters  to  the  Cheyenne  Sun,  and 
soon  made  such  a  reputation  for  himself  that  he  was 
able  to  obtain  a  position  on  the  Laramie  Sentinel.  Of 
this  expeiience  he  wrote: 

"The  salary  was  small,  but  the  latitude  was  great, 
and  I  was  permitted  to  write  anything  that  I  thought 
would  please  the  people,  whether  it  was  news  or  not. 
By  and  by  I  had  won  every  heart  by  my  patient  pov- 
erty and  my  delightful  parsimony  with  regard  to  facts. 
With  a  hectic  imagination  and  an  order  on  a  restaurant 
which  advertised  in  the  paper  I  scarcely  cared  through 
the  livelong  day  whether  school  kept  or  not." 

Of  the  proprietor  of  the  Sentinel  he  wrote: 

"I  don't  know  whether  he  got  into  the  penitentiary 
or  the  Greenback  party.  At  any  rate,  he  was  the 
wickedest  man  in  Wyoming.  Still,  he  was  warm- 
hearted and  generous  to  a  fault.  He  was  more  gener- 
ous to  a  fault  than  to  anything  else — more  especially 
his  own  faults.  He  gave  me  twelve  dollars  a  week  to 
edit  the  paper — local,  telegraph,  selections,  religious, 
sporting,  political,  fashions,  and  obituary.  He  said 
twelve  dollars  was  too  much,  but  if  I  would  jerk  the 
press  occasionally  and  take  care  of  his  children  he 
would  try  to  stand  it.  You  can't  mix  politics  and 
measles.  I  saw  that  I  would  have  to  draw  the  line  at 
measles.  So  one  day  I  drew  my  princely  salary  and 
quit,  having  acquired  a  style  of  fearless  and  independ- 
ent journalism  which  I  still  retain.  I  can  write  up 


BIOGRAPHICAL  7 

things  that  never  occurred  with  a  masterly  and  graphic 
hand.  Then,  if  they  occur,  I  am  grateful;  if  not,  I 
bow  to  the  inevitable  and  smother  my  chagrin." 

In  the  midst  of  a  wrangle  in  politics  he  was 
appointed  Postmaster  of  his  town  and  his  letter  of 
acceptance,  addressed  to  the  Postmaster-General  at 
Washington,  was  the  first  of  his  writings  to  attract 
national  attention. 

He  said  that  in  his  opinion,  his  being  selected  for  the 
office  was  a  triumph  of  eternal  right  over  error  and 
wrong.  "It  is  one  of  the  epochs,  I  may  say.  in  the 
nation's  onward  march  toward  political  purity  and  per- 
fection," he  wrote.  "I  don't  know  when  1  have 
noticed  any  stride  in  the  affairs  of  State  which  has  so 
thoroughly  impressed  me  with  its  wisdom." 

Shortly  after  he  became  postmaster  he  started  the 
Boomerang.  The  first  office  of  the  paper  was  over  a 
livery  stable,  and  Nye  put  up  a  sign  instructing  callers 
to  "twist  the  tail  of  the  gray  mule  and  take  the  ele- 
vator." 

He  at  once  became  famous,  and  was  soon  brought  to 
New  York,  at  a  salary  that  seemed  fabulous  to  him. 
His  place  among  the  humorists  of  the  world  was 
thenceforth  assured. 

He  died  February  22,  1896,  at  his  home  in  North 
Carolina,  surrounded  by  his  family. 

James  Whitcomb  Riley,  the  Hoosier  poet,  was  for 
manv  years  a  close  personal  friend  of  the  dead  humor- 
ist. When  informed  of  Xye's  death,  he  said: 

"Especially  favored,  as  for  years  I  have  been,  with 
close  personal  acquaintance  and  association  with  Mr. 
Nye,  his  going  away  fills  me  with  selfishness  of  grief 
that  finds  a  mute  rebuke  in  my  every  memory  of  him. 


8  BIOGRAPHICAL 

He  was  unselfish  wholly,  and  I  am  broken-hearted, 
recalling  the  always  patient  strength  and  gentleness  of 
this  true  man,  the  unfailing  hope  and  cheer  and  faith 
of  his  child-heart,  his  noble  and  heroic  life,  and  pure 
devotion  to  his  home,  his  deep  affections,  constant 
dreams,  plans,  and  realizations.  I  cannot  doubt  but 
that  somehow,  somewhere,  he  continues  cheerily  on  in 
the  unspoken  exercise  of  these  same  capacities. 
Mr.  Riley  recently  wrote  the  following  sonnet: 

O  William,  in  thy  blithe  companionship 
What  libeity  is  mine — what  sweet  release 
From  clamorous  strife,  and   yet  what   boisterous 
peace! 

Ho!  ho!     It  is  thy  fancy's  finger-tip 

That  dints  the  dimple  now,  and  kinks  the  lip 
That  scarce  may  sing  in  all  this  glad  increase 
Of  merriment!     So,  pray  thee,  do  not  cease 

To  cheer  me  thus,  for  underneath  the  quip 

Of  thy  droll  sorcery  the  wrangling  fret 
Of  all  distress  is  still.     No  syllable 

Of  sorrow  vexeth  me,  no  tear  drops  wet 

My  teeming  lids,  save  those  that  leap  to  tell 

Thee  thou'st  a  guest  that  overweepeth  yet 
Only  because  thou  jokest  overwelL 


WHY    IT    WAS    DONE  13 

tract  his  attention.  This  book  is  designed  for  him. 
Also  for  people  who  would  like  to  travel  but  cannot 
get  away  from  home.  Of  course,  people  who  do  travel 
will  find  nothing  objectionable  in  the  book,  but  our 
plan  is  to  issue  a  book  worth  about  $9,  charging  only 
fifty  cents  for  it,  and  then  see  to  it  that  no  time-tables 
or  maps  which  will  never  return  after  they  have  been 
pulled  out  once,  shall  creep  in  among  its  pages. 

It  is  the  design  of  the  authors  to  issue  this  guide 
annually  unless  prohibited  by  law,  and  to  be  the 
pioneers  establishing  a  book  which  shall  be  designed 
solely  for  the  use  of  anybody  who  desires  to  subscribe 
for  it 

BILL  NYE. 

JAMES  WHITCOMB  RILEY. 

P.  S, — The  authors  desire  to  express  their  thanks  to 
Mr.  Riley  for  the  poetry  and  to  Mr.  Nye  for  the  prose 
which  have  been  used  in  this  book. 


August — Riley 32 

Anecdotes  of  Jay  G  mid — Nye 23 

A  Black  Hills  Episode— Riley 132 

A  Blasted  Snore — Nye 190 

A  Brave  Refrain— Riley 188 

A  Character — Rile}'- 142 

A  Dose't  of  Blues — Riley 220 

A  Fall  Creek  View  of  the  Earihquake — Riley   .      .  30 

A  Flint  of  Spring— Riley 168 

A  Letter  of  Acceptance — Nye 56 

A  Treat  Ode — Riley 170 

Craqueodoom — Riley 81 

Curly  Locks — Riley 118 

Kzra  House — Riley 161 

Fiom  Delphi  to  Camden — Riley 75 

Good-bye  er  Howdy-do — Riley .  195 

Healthy,  but  Out  of  the  Race— Nye 101 

Her  Tired  Hands — Nye 152 

His  Crazy  Bone — Riley 89 

His  Christmas  Sled — Riley 150 

His  First  Womern — Riley 41 

How  to  Hunt  the  Fox — Nye 46 

In  a  Box — Riley 214 

In  the  Afternoon — Riley    .........  65 

Julius  Caesar  in  Town — Nye 34 

Lines  on  Hearing-  a  Cow  Bawl — Riley      .     .     .     .107 

Lines  on  Turning  Over  a  Pass — Nye 120 

15 


16  CONTENTS 

Me  and  Mary — Riley 109 

McFeeters'  Fourth — Riley an 

My  Bachelor  Chum— Riley 178 

Mr.  Silberberg — Riley 96 

Niagara  Falls  from  the  Nye  Side — Nye    .     .     .     .   1 1 1 

Never  Talk  Back — Riley 20 

Oh,  Wilhelmina,  Come  Back — Nye 165 

Our  Wife — Nye 172 

Prying  Open  the  Future — Nye 90 

Says  He — Riley 204 

Seeking  to  Be  Identified — Nye 228 

Seeking  to  Set  the  Public  Right — Nye     .     .     .     .216 

Spirits  at  Home — Riley 99 

Society  Gurgs  from  Sandy  Mush — Nye     .     .     .     .197 

Suiter's  Claim — Riley 226 

This  Man  Jones — Riley 43 

That  Night— Riley 124 

The  Boy  Friend — Riley 54 

The  Chemist  of  the  Carolinas — Nye 82 

The  Diary  of  Darius  T.  Skinner — Nye     .     .     .     .144 

The  Grammatical  Boy — Nye 77 

The  Gruesome  Ballad  of  Mr.  Squincher — Riley     .     21 

The  Man  in  the  Moon — Riley 148 

The  Philanthropical  Jay — Nye 180 

The  Truth  about  Methuselah — Nye 126 

The  Tar-heel  Cow — Nye 137 

The  Rise  and  Fall  of  William  Johnson — Nye  .  .  66 
The  Rossville  Lecture  Course — Riley  ....  134 

Wanted,  a  Fox — Nye 222 

Where  He  First  Met  His  Parents— Nye  ....  17 
Where  the  Roads  are  Engaged  in  Forking — Nye  .  206 
While  Cigarettes  to  Ashes  Turn — Riley  .  .  .  .201 
Why  It  Was  Done— Nye  &  Riley u 


Where  He  First  Met  His  Parents 

Last  week  I  visited  my  birthplace  in  the  State  of 
Maine.  I  waited  thirty  years  for  the  public  to  visit  it, 
and  as  there  didn't  seem  to  be  much  of  a  rush  this 
spring,  I  thought  I  would  go  and  visit  it  myself.  I 
was  telling  a  friend  the  other  day  that  the  public  did 
not  seem  to  manifest  the  interest  in  my  birthplace  that 
I  thought  it  ought  to,  and  he  said  I  ought  not  to  mind 


that.  "Just  wait,"  said  he,  "till  the  people  of  the 
United  States  have  an  opportunity  to  visit  your  tomb, 
and  you  will  be  surprised  to  see  how  they  will  run 
excursion  trains  up  there  to  Moosehead  lake,  or  wher- 
ever you  plant  yourself.  It  will  be  a  perfect  picnic. 
Your  hold  on  the  American  people,  William,  is  wonder- 
ful, but  your  death  would  seem  to  assure  it,  and  kind 
of  crystallize  the  affection  now  existing,  but  still  in  a 
nebulous  and  gummy  state." 

17 


18  WHERE    HE    FIRST    MET    HIS    PARENTS 

A  man  ought  not  to  criticise  his  birthplace,  I  pre- 
sume, and  yet,  if  I  were  to  do  it  all  over  again,  I  do 
not  know  whether  I  would  select  that  particular  spot 
or  not.  Sometimes  I  think  I  would  not.  And  yet, 
what  memories  cluster  about  that  old  house!  There 
was  the  place  where  I  first  met  my  parents.  It  was  at 
that  time  that  an  acquaintance  sprang  up  which  has 
ripened  in  later  years  into  mutual  respect  and  esteem. 
It  was  there  that  what  might  be  termed  a  casual  meet- 
ing took  place,  that  has,  under  the  alchemy  of  resist- 
less years,  turned  to  golden  links,  forming  a  pleasant 
but  powerful  bond  of  union  between  my  parents  and 
myself.  For  that  reason,  I  hope  that  I  may  be  spared 
to  my  parents  for  many  years  to  come. 

Many  memories  now  cluster  about  that  old  home, 
as  I  have  said.  There  is,  also,  other  bric-a-brac  which 
has  accumulated  since  I  was  born  there.  I  took  a 
small  stone  from  the  front  yard  as  a  kind  of  memento 
of  the  occasion  and  the  place.  I  do  not  think  it  has 
been  detected  yet.  There  was  another  stone  in  the 
yard,  so  it  may  be  weeks  before  any  one  finds  out  that 
I  took  one  of  them. 

How  humble  the  home,  and  yet  what  a  lesson  it 
should  teach  the  boys  of  America!  Here,  amid  the 
barren  and  inhospitable  waste  of  rocks  and  cold,  the 
last  place  in  the  world  that  a  great  man  would  natu- 
rally select  to  be  born  in,  began  the  life  of  one  who, by 
his  own  unaided  effort,  in  after  years  rose  to  the  proud 
height  of  postmaster  at  Laramie  City,  Wy.  T.,  and 
with  an  estimate  of  the  future  that  seemed  almost 
prophetic,  resigned  before  he  could  be  characterized  as 
an  offensive  partisan. 

Here  on  the  banks  of  the  raging  Piscataquis,  where 


WHERE    HE    FIRST    MET    HIS    PARENTS  19 

winter  lingers  in  the  lap  of  spring  till  it  occasions  a 
good  deal  of  talk,  there  began  a  career  which  has 
been  the  wonder  and  admiration  of  every  vigilance 
committee  west  of  the  turbulent  Missouri. 

There  on  that  spot,  with  no  inheritance  but  a  pre- 
disposition to  baldness  and  a  bitter  hatred  of  rum; 
with  no  personal  property  but  a  misfit  suspender  and 
a  stone-bruise,  began  a  life  history  which  has  never 
ceased  to  be  a  warning  to  people  who  have  sold  goods 
on  credit. 

It  should  teach  the  youth  of  our  great  broad  land 
what  glorious  possibilities  may  lie  concealed  in  the 
rough  and  tough  bosom  of  the  reluctant  present.  It 
shows  how  steady  perseverance  and  a  good  appetite 
will  always  win  in  the  end.  It  teaches  us  that  wealth 
is  not  indispensable,  and  that  if  we  live  as  we  should, 
draw  out  of  politics  at  the  proper  time,  and  die  a  few 
days  before  the  public  absolutely  demand  it,  the  matter 
of  our  birthplace  will  not  be  considered. 

Still,  my  birthplace  is  all  right  as  a  birthplace.  It 
was  a  good,  quiet  place  in  which  to  be  born.  All  the 
old  neighbors  said  that  Shirley  was  a  very  quiet  place 
up  to  the  time  I  was  born  there,  and  when  I  took  my 
parents  by  the  hand  and  gently  led  them  away  in  the 
spring  of  '53,  saying,  "Parents,  this  is  no  place  for 
us,"  it  again  became  quiet. 

It  is  the  only  birthplace  I  have,  however,  and  I  hope 
that  all  the  readers  of  this  sketch  will  feel  perfectly 
free  to  go  there  any  time  and  visit  it  and  carry  their 
dinner  as  I  did.  Extravagant  cordiality  and  overflow- 
ing hospitality  have  always  kept  my  birthplace  back. 


Never  talk  back!  sich  things  is  ripperhensible; 

feller  only  "corks"  hisse'f  that  jaws  a  man  that's 

hot; 
In  a  quarrel,  ef  you'll  only  keep  your  mouth  shet  and 

act  sensible, 

The  man  that  does  the  talkin'll  git  worsted  every 
shot! 

Never  talk  back  to  a  feller  that's  abusin'  you — 

Jest  let  him  carry  on,  and  rip,  and  cuss  and  swear; 
And  when  he  finds  his  lyin'  and    his  dammin's  jest 

amusin'  you, 

You've  gut  him  clean  kafltimmixed,  and  you  want 
to  hold  him  there! 

Never  talk  back,  and  wake  up  the  whole  community, 

And  call  a  man  a  liar,  over  law,  er  Politics, — 
You  can  lift  and  land  him  furder  and  with  gracefuller 

impunity 

With  one  good  jolt  of  silence  than  a  half  a  dozen 
kicks! 

30 


The  Gruesome  Ballad  of 
Mr.  Squincher 


"Ki-yi!"  said  Mr.  Squincher, 

As  in  contemplative  pose, 
He  stood  before  the  looking- 
glass 

And  burnished  up  his  nose, 
And  brushed  the  dandruff  from 

a  span- 
Spick  -splinter  suit   of 

clothes, — 

"Why,  bless  you,  Mr.    Squin- 
cher, 

You're   as   handsome   as    a 
rosel" 


'There  are  some,"   continued 

Squincher, 

As  he  raised  upon  his  toes 
To  catch  his  full  reflection, 
And  the  fascinating  bows 
That     graced     his    legs,  —  "I 

reckon 
There  are  some  folks  never 

knows 

How  beautiful  is  human  legs 
In  pantaloons  like  those!" 

21 


22  THE  GRUESOME  BALLAD  OF  MR.   SQUINCHEK 

"But  ah!"  sighed  Mr.  Squincher, 

As  a  ghastly  phantom  'rose 
And  leered  above  his  shoulder 

Like  the  deadliest  of  foes, — 
With  fleshless  arms  and  fingers, 

And  a  skull,  with  glistening  rows 
Of  teeth  that  crunched  and  gritted,- 

"It's  my  tailor,  I  suppose!" 

They  found  him  in  the  morning— 

So  the  mystic  legend  goes — 
With  the  placid  face  still  smiling 

In  its  statuesque  repose ; — 
With  a  lily  in  his  left  hand, 

And  in  his  right  a  rose, 
With  their  fragrance  curling  upward 

Through  a  nimbus  'round  his  nose 


Anecdotes  of  Jay  Gould 


Facial  Neuralgia  is  what 
is  keeping-  Jay  Gould  back 
this  summer  and  preventing 
him  from  making  as  much 
money  as  he  would  other- 
wise. With  good  health  and 
his  present  methods  of  doing 
business  Mr.  Gould  could  in 
a  few  years  be  beyond  the 
reach  of  want,  but  he  is  up 
so  much  nights  with  his  face 
that  he  has  to  keep  one  gas- 
jet  biirning  all  the  time. 
Besides  he  has  cabled  once 
to  Dr.  Brown-Sequard  for  a 
neuralgia  pill  that  he  thought 
would  relieve  the  intense  pain,  and  found  after  he  had 
paid  for  the  cablegram  that  every  druggist  in  New 
York  kept  the  Brown-Sequard  pill  in  stock.  But  when 
a  man  is  ill  he  does  not  care  for  expense,  especially 
when  he  controls  an  Atlantic  cable  or  two. 

This  neuralgia  pill  is  about  the  size  of  a  two-year- 
old  colt  and  pure  white.  I  have  been  compelled  to 
take  several  of  them  myself  while  suffering  from  facial 
neuralgia;  for  neuralgia  does  not  spare  the  good,  the 

23 


24  ANECDOTES   OF    JAY    GOULD 

true  or  the  beautiful.  She  comes  along  and  nips  the 
poor  yeoman  as  well  as  the  millionaire  who  sits  in  the 
lap  of  luxury.  Millionaires  who  flatter  themselves 
that  they  can  evade  neuralgia  by  going  and  sitting  in 
the  lap  of  luxury  make  a  great  mistake. 

"And  do  you  find  that  this  large  porcelain  pill 
relieves  you  at  all,  Mr.  Gould?"  I  asked  him  during 
one  of  these  attacks,  as  he  sat  in  his  studio  with  his 
face  tied  up  in  hot  bran. 

"No,  it  does  me  no  good  whatever,"  said  the  man 
who  likes  to  take  a  lame  railroad  and  put  it  on  its  feet 
by  issuing  more  bonds.  "It  contains  a  little  morphine, 
which  dulls  the  pam  but  there's  nothing  in  the  pill  to 
cure  the  cause.  My  neuralgia  comes  from  indiges- 
tion. My  appetite  is  four  sizes  too  large  for  a  man  of 
my  height,  and  every  little  while  I  overeat.  I  then  get 
dangerously  ill  and  stocks  become  greatly  depressed  in 
consequence.  I  am  now  in  a  position  where,  if  I  had 
a  constitution  that  would  stand  the  strain,  I  could  get 
well  off  in  a  few  years,  but  I  am  not  strong  enough. 
Every  little  change  in  the  weather  affects  rre.  I  see  a 
red-headed  girl  on  the  street  and  itiimedi.iLfc-;  after- 
wards I  see  one  of  these  big  white  pill? ." 

"Are  you  sure,  Mr.  Gould,"  I  askec1  Trm  with  some 
Sf  licitude,  as  I  bent  forward  and  in'«d,Iecl  tf>~  rich  fra- 
grance of  the  carnation  in  his  button-hole,  ''that  you 
have  not  taken  cold  in  some  way?" 

"Possibly  I  have,"  he  said,  as  he  shrank  back  in  a 
petulant  way,  I  thought.  "Last  week  I  got  my  feet  a 
little  damp  while  playing  the  hose  on  some  of  my 
stocks,  but  I  hardly  think  that  was  what  caused  the 
trouble.  I  am  apt  to  overeat,  as  I  said.  I  am  espe- 
cially fond  of  fruit,  too.  When  I  was  a  boy  I  had  no 


ANECDOTES    OF    JAY    GOULD  25 

trouble,  because  I  always  divided  my  fruit  with  another 
boy,  of  whom  I  was  very  fond.  I  would  always  divide 
my  fruit  in  two  equal  parts,  keeping  one  of  these  and 
eating  the  other  myself.  Many  and  many  a  time 
when  this  boy  and  I  went  out  together  and  only  had 
one  wormy  apple  between  us,  I  have  divided  it  and 
given  him  the  worm. 


"As  a  boy,  I  was  taught  to  believe  that  half  is  always 
better  than  the  hole." 

'And  are  you  not  afraid  that  this  neuralgia  after  it 
has  picnicked  around  among  your  features  may  fly  to 
your  vitals?" 

"Possibly  so,"  said  Mr.  Gould,  snapping  the  hunting 


26  ANECDOTES    OF    JAY    GOULD 

case  of  his  massive  silver  watch  with  a  loud  report, 
"but  I  am  guarding  against  this  by  keeping  my 
pocketbook  wrapped  up  all  the  time  in  an  old  red 
flannel  shii  t. " 

Here  Mr.  Gould  arose  and  went  out  of  the  room  for 
a  long  time,  and  I  could  hear  him  pacing  up  and  down 
outside,  stopping  now  and  then  to  peer  through  the 
keyhole  to  see  if  I  had  gone  away.  But  in  each 
instance  he  was  gratified  to  find  that  I  had  not.  Lest 
any  one  should  imagine  that  I  took  advantage  of  his 
absence  to  peruse  his  private  correspondence,  I  will 
say  here  that  I  did  not  do  so,  as  his  desk  was  securely 
locked. 

Mr.  Gould's  habits  are  simple  and  he  does  not  hold 
his  cane  by  the  middle  when  he  walks.  He  wears 
plain  clothes  and  his  shirts  and  collars  are  both  made 
of  the  same  shade.  He  says  he  feels  sorry  for  any  one 
who  has  to  wear  a  pink  shirt  with  a  blue  collar.  Some 
day  he  hopes  to  endow  a  home  for  young  men  who 
cannot  afford  to  buy  a  shirt  and  a  collar  at  the  same 
store. 

He  owes  much  of  his  neuralgia  to  a  lack  of  exercise. 
Mr.  Gould  never  takes  any  exercise  at  all.  His  reason 
for  this  is  that  he  sees  no  prospect  for  exercise  to 
advance  in  value.  He  says  he  is  willing  to  take  any- 
thing else  but  exercise. 

Up  to  within  a  very  few  years  Jay  Gould  has  always 
slept  well  at  night,  owing  to  regular  hours  for  rising 
and  retiring  and  his  careful  abstinence  from  tobacco 
and  alcohol.  Lately  neuralgia  has  kept  him  awake  a 
good  deal  at  night,  but  prior  to  that  he  used  to  sleep 
as  sweetly  and  peacefully  as  a  weasel. 

The  story  circulated  some  years  ago  to  the  effect 


ANECDOTES   OF    JAY    GOULD  2? 

that  a  professional  burglar  broke  into  Mr.  Gould's 
room  in  the  middle  of  the  night  and  before  he  could 
call  the  police  was  robbed  of  his  tools,  is  not  true. 
People  who  have  no  higher  aim  in  life  than  the  ped- 
dling about  of  such  improbable  yarns  would  do  well  to 
ascertain  the  truth  of  these  reports  befoie  giving  them 
circulation. 

The  story  that  Mr.  Gould  once  killed  a  steer  and 
presented  his  hoofs  to  the  poor  with  the  remark  that 
it  would  help  to  keep  sole  and  body  together,  also 
turned  out  to  have  no  foundation  whatever  in  fact,  but 
was  set  afloat  by  an  English  wag  who  was  passionately 
fond  of  a  bit  of  pleasantry,  don't  you  know. 

Thus  it  is  that  a  man  who  has  acquired  a  competence 
by  means  of  honest  toil  becomes  the  target  for  the 
barbed  shaft  of  contumely. 

Mr.  Gould  is  said  to  be  a  good  conversationalist, 
though  he  prefers  to  close  his  eyes  and  listen  to  others. 
Nothing  pleases  him  better  than  to  lure  a  man  on  and 
draw  him  out  and  encourage  him  to  turn  his  mind 
wrong  side  out  and  empty  it.  He  then  richly  repays 
this  confidence  by  saying  that  if  it  doesn't  rain  any 
more  we  will  have  a  long  diy  time.  The  man  then 
goes  away  inflated  with  the  idea  that  he  has  a  pointer 
from  Mr.  Gould  which  will  materially  affect  values. 
A  great  many  men  are  playing  croquet  at  the  poor- 
house  this  summer  who  owe  their  prosperity  to  tips 
given  them  by  Mr.  Gould. 

As  a  fair  sample  of  the  way  a  story  about  a  great 
man  grows  and  becomes  distorted  at  the  same  time, 
one  incident  will  be  sufficient.  Some  years  ago,  it  is 
said,  Mr.  Gould  bought  a  general  admission  ticket  to 
hear  Sarah  Bernhardt  as  Camille.  Several  gentlemen 


28  ANECDOTES    OF    JAY    GOULD 

who  were  sitting  near  where  he  stood  asked  him  why 
he  did  not  take  a  seat.  Instead  of  answering  directly 
that  he  could  not  get  one  he  replied  that  he  did  not 
care  for  a  seat,  as  he  wanted  to  be  near  the  door  when 
the  building  fell.  Shortly  after  this  he  had  more  seats 
than  he  could  use.  I  give  this  story  simply  to  illus- 
trate how  such  a  thing  ma)T  be  distorted,  for  upon 
investigation  it  was  found  to  have  occurred  at  a  Patti 
concert,  and  not  at  a  Bernhardt  exhibition  at  all. 

Mr.  Gould's  career,  with  its  attendant  success, 
should  teach  us  two  things,  at  least.  One  is,  that  it 
always  pays  to  do  a  kind  act,  for  a  great  deal  of  his 
large  fortune  has  been  amassed  by  assisting  men  like 
Mr.  Field,  when  they  were  in  a  tight  place,  and  taking 
their  depressed  stock  off  their  hands  while  in  a 
shrunken  condition.  He  believes  also  that  the  merci- 
ful man  is  merciful  to  his  stock. 

He  says  he  owes  much  of  his  success  in  life  to  econ- 
omy and  neuralgia.  He  also  loves  to  relieve  distress 
on  Wall  street,  and  is  so  passionately  fond  of  this  as 
he  grows  older  that  he  has  been  known  to  distress 
other  stock  men  just  for  the  pleasant  thrill  it  gave  him 
to  relieve  them. 

Jay  Gould  is  also  a  living  illustration  of  what  a 
young  man  may  do  with  nothing  but  his  bare  hands 
in  America.  John  L.  Sullivan  and  Gould  are  both 
that  way.  Mr.  Gould  and  Col.  Sullivan  could  go  into 
Siberia  to-morrow — little  as  they  are  known  there  — 
and  with  a  small  Gordon  press,  a  quire  of  bond  paper 
and  a  pair  of  three-pennyweight  gloves  they  would 
soon  own  Siberia,  with  a  right  of  way  across  the  rest 
of  Europe  and  a  first  mortgage  on  the  Russian  throne 
As  fast  as  Col.  Sullivan  knocked  out  a  dynasty  Ja^ 


ANECDOTES    OF    JAY    GOULD  29 

could  come  in  and  administer  on  the  estate.  This 
would  be  a  powerful  combination.  It  would  afford  us 
an  opportunity  also  to  get  some  of  those  Russian  hay- 
fever  names  and  chilblains  by  red  message.  Mr. 
Gould  would  get  a  good  deal  of  money  out  of  the 
transaction  and  Sullivan  would  get  ozone. 


I   kin   hump   my   back 

take  the  rain, 
And  I  don't  keer  how  she 

pours , 
I  kin  keep  kindo'   ca'm  in  a 

thunder  storm, 
No    matter  how  loud  she 

roars ; 
I  haint  much  skeered  o'  the 

lightnin', 
Ner    I    haint    sich    awful 

shakes 

Af eared  o'  cyclones — but  I  don't  want  none 
O'  yer  dad-burned  old  rar/A-quakes! 

As  long  as  my  legs  keeps  stiddy, 

And  long  as  my  head  keeps  plum, 
And  the  buildin'  stays  in  the  front  lot, 

I  still  kin  whistle,  some! 
But  about  the  time  the  old  clock 

Flops  off'n  the  mantel-shelf, 
And  the  bureau  skoots  fer  the  kitchem, 

I'm  a-goin'  to  skoot,  myself! 


A   FALL-CREEK  VIEW  OF  THE  EARTHQUAKE  31 

Plague-take !  ef  you  keep  me  stabled 

While  any  earthquakes  is  around! — 
I'm  jist  like  the  stock, — I'll  beller, 

And  break  fer  the  open  ground! 
And  I  'low  you'd  be  as  nervous, 

And  in  jist  about  my  fix, 
When  yer  whole  farm  slides  from  inunder  you, 

And  on'y  the  mor'gage  sticks! 

Now  cars  haint  a-goin'  to  kill  you 

Ef  you  don't  drive  'crost  the  trackr; 
Crediters  never'll  jerk  you  up 

Ef  you  go  and  pay  'em  back ; 
You  kin  t^tand  all  moral  and  mundane  storms 

Ef  you'll  on'y  iist  behave — 
But  a'  EARTHQUAKE:— well,  ef  it  wanted  you 

It  'ud  husk  you  out  o'  yer  grave! 


0  mellow   month    and 

merry  month, 
Let  me  make  love  to 

you, 
And  follow  you  around 

the  world 

As   knights  their  la- 
dies do. 

1  thought  your  sisters 

beautiful, 
Both  May  and  April, 

too, 
But  April  she  had  rainy 

eyes, 
And  May  had  eyes  of 

blue. 


AUGUST  33 

And  June — I  liked  the  singing 

Of  her  lips,  and  liked  her  smile — 
But  all  her  songs  were  promises 

Of  something,  after  while; 
And  July's  face — the  lights  and  shade 

That  may  not  long  beguile, 
With  alternations  o'er  the  wheat 

The  dreamer  at  the  stile. 

But  you! — ah,  you  are  tropical, 

Your  beauty  is  so  rare : 
Your  eyes  are  clearer,  deeper  eyes 

Than  any,  anywhere; 
Mysterious,  imperious, 

Deliriously  fair, 
O  listless  Andalusian  maid, 

With  bangles  in  your  hair! 


Julius   Caesar  in  Town 


HE  play  of  "Julius 
Caesar,"  which  has 
been  at  the  Acad- 
emy of  Music  this 
week,  has  made  a 
great  hit.  Messrs. 
Booth  and  Barrett 
very  wisely  decided 
that  if  it  succeeded 
here  it  would  do 
well  anywhere.  If 
the  people  of  New 
York  like  a  play  and 
say  so,  it  is  almost 
sure  to  go  elsewhere.  Judging  by  this  test  the  play 
of  "Julius  C.'iesar"  has  a  glowing  future  ahead  of  it. 
It  was  written  by  Gentlemen  Shakespeare,  Bacon  and 
Donnelly,  who  collaborated  together  on  it.  Shake- 
speare did  the  lines  and  plot,  Bacon  furnished  the 
cipher  and  Donnelly  called  attention  to  it  through  the 
papers. 

The  scene  of  "Julius  Csesar"  is  laid  in  Rome  just 
before  the  railroad  was  completed  to  that  place.  In 
order  to  understand  the  play  itself  we  must  glance 

34 


JULIUS   CAESAR    IN    TOWN  35 

briefly  at  the  leading  characters  which  are  introduced 
and  upon  whom  its  success  largely  depends. 

Julius  Caesar  first  attracted  attention  through  the 
Roman  papers  by  calling  the  attention  of  the  medical 
faculty  to  the  now  justly  celebrated  Caesarian  opera- 
tion. Taking  advantage  of  the  advertisement  thus 
attained,  he  soon  rose  to  prominence  and  flourished 
considerably  from  100  to  44  B.  C.,  when  a  committee 
of  representative  citizens  and  property-owners  of  Rome 
called  upon  him  and  on  behalf  of  the  people  begged 
leave  to  assassinate  him  as  a  mark  of  esteem.  He 
was  stabbed  twenty-three  times  between  Pompey's 
Pillar  and  eleven  o'clock,  many  of  which  were  mortal. 
This  account  of  the  assassination  is  taken  from  a  local 
paper  and  is  graphic,  succinct  and  lacks  the  sensational 
elements  so  common  and  so  lamentable  in  our  own 
time.  Caesar  was  the  implacable  foe  of  the  aristocracy 
and  refused  to  wear  a  plug  hat  up  to  the  day  of  his 
death.  Sulla  once  said,  before  Caesar  had  made  much 
of  a  showing,  that  some  day  this  young  man  would  be 
the  ruin  of  the  aristocracy,  and  twenty  years  afterwards 
when  Caesar  sacked,  assassinated  and  holocausted  a 
whole  theological  seminary  for  saying  "eyether"  and 
"nyether, "  the  old  settlers  recalled  what  Sulla  had 
said. 

Caesar  continued  to  eat  pie  with  a  knife  and  in  many 
other  ways  to  endear  himself  to  the  masses  until  68 
B.  C.,  when  he  ran  for  Quaestor.  Afterward  he  was 
Nellie,  during  the  term  of  which  office  he  sought  to 
introduce  a  number  of  new  games  and  to  extend  the 
limit  on  some  of  the  older  ones.  From  this  to  the 
Senate  was  but  a  _^p.  In  the  Senate  he  was  known 
as  a  good  Speaker,  but  ambitious,  and  liable  to  turn 


36  JULIUS    CAESAR    IN    TOWN 

up  during  a  close  vote  when  his  enemies  thought  he 
was  at  home  doing  his  chores.  This  made  him  at 
times  odious  to  those  who  opposed  him,  and  when  he 
defended  Cataline  and  offered  to  go  on  his  bond, 
Caesar  came  near  being  condemned  to  death  himself. 

In  62  B.  C.  he  went  to  Spain  as  Propraetor,  intend- 
ing to  write  a  book  about  the  Spanish  people  and  their 
customs  as  soon  as  he  got  back,  but  he  was  so  busy  on 
his  return  that  he  did  not  have  time  to  do  so. 

Caesar  was  a  powerful  man  with  the  people,  and 
while  in  the  Senate  worked  hard  for  his  constituents, 
while  other  Senators  were  having  their  photographs 
taken.  He  went  into  the  army  when  the  war  broke 
out,  and  after  killing  a  great  many  people  against 
whom  he  certainly  could  not  have  had  anything  per- 
sonal, he  returned,  headed  by  the  Rome  Silver  Cornet 
Band  and  leading  a  procession  over  two  miles  in 
length.  It  was  at  this  time  that  he  was  tendered  a 
crown  just  as  he  was  passing  the  City  Hall,  but  thrice 
he  refused  it.  After  each  refusal  the  people  applauded 
and  encored  him  till  he  had  to  refuse  it  again.  It  is 
at  about  this  time  the  play  opens.  Caesar  has  just 
arrived  on  a  speckled  courser  and  dismounted  outside 
the  town.  He  comes  in  at  the  head  of  a  procession 
with  the  understanding  that  the  crown  is  to  be  offered 
him  just  as  he  crosses  over  to  the  Court-House. 

Here  Cassius  and  Brutus  meet,  and  Cassius  tries  to 
make  a  Mugwump  of  Brutus,  so  that  they  can  organ- 
ize a  new  movement.  Mr.  Edwin  Booth  takes  the 
character  of  Brutus  and  Mr.  Lawrence  Barrett  takes 
that  of  Cassius.  I  would  not  wanf  to  take  the  character 
of  Cassius  myself,  even  if  I  had  run  short  of  character 
and  needed  some  very  much  indeed,  but  Mr.  Barrett 


JULIUS    CAESAR    IN    TOWN  37 

takes  it  and  does  first-rate.  Mr.  Bootn  aiso  plays 
Brutus  so  that  old  settlers  here  say  it  seems  almost  like 
having  Brutus  here  among  us  again. 

Brutus  was  a  Roman  republican  with  strong  tariff 
tendencies.  He  was  a  good  extemporaneous  after- 
dinner  speaker  and  a  warm  personal  friend  of  Caesar, 
though  differing  from  him  politically.  In  assassinat- 
ing Caesar,  Brutus  used  to  say  afterwards  he  did  not 
feel  the  slightest  personal  animosity,  but  did  it  entirely 
for  the  good  of  the  party.  That  is  one  thing  I  like  about 
politics — you  can  cut  out  a  man's  vitals  and  hang  them 
on  the  Christmas  tree  and  drag  the  fair  name  of  his 
wife  or  mother  around  through  the  sewers  for  six 
weeks  before  election,  and  so  long  as  it  is  done  for  the 
good  of  the  party  it  is  all  right. 

So  when  Brutus  is  authorized  by  the  caucus  to  assas- 
sinate Caesar  he  feels  that,  like  being  President  of  the 
United  States,  it  is  a  disagreeable  job;  but  if  the  good 
of  the  party  seems  really  to  demand  it  he  will  do  it, 
though  he  wishes  it  distinctly  understood  that  person- 
ally he  hasn't  got  a  thing  against  Caesar. 

In  act  4  Brutus  sits  up  late  reading  a  story  by  E.  P. 
Roe,  and  just  as  he  is  in  the  most  exciting  part  of  it 
the  ghost  of  the  assassinated  Caesar  appears  and  states 
that  it  will  meet  him  with  hard  gloves  at  Philippi. 
Brutus  looks  bored  and  says  that  he  is  not  in  condi- 
tion, but  the  ghost  leaves  it  that  way  and  Brutus  looks 
still  more  bored  till  the  ghost  goes  out  through  a  white 
oak  door  without  opening  it. 

At  Philippi,  Brutus  sees  that  there  is  no  hope  of 
police  interference,  and  so  before  time  is  called  he 
inserts  his  sword  into  his  being  and  dies  while  the 
polite  American  audience  puts  on  its  overcoat  and  goes 


38 


JULIUS    CAESAR    IN    TOWN 


out,  looking  over  its  shoulder  to  see  that  Brutus  does 
not  take  advantage  of  this  moment,  while  the  people 
are  going  away,  to  resuscitate  himself. 

The  play  is  thoroughly  enjoyable  all  the  way 
through,  especially  Caesar's  funeral.  The  idea  of 
introducing  a  funeral  and  engaging  Mark  Antony  to 


deliver  the  eulogy,  with  the  understanding  that  he 
was  to  have  his  traveling  expenses  paid  and  the  privi- 
lege of  selling  the  sermon  to  a  syndicate,  shows  genius 
on  the  part  of  the  joint  authors.  All  the  way  through 
the  play  is  good,  but  sad.  There  is  no  divertisement 
or  tank  in  it,  but  the  funeral  more  than  makes  up  for 
all  that. 


JULIUS    CAESAR    IN    TOWN  39 

Where  Portia  begs  Brutus,  before  the  assassination, 
to  tell  her  all  and  let  her  in  on  the  ground  floor,  and 
asks  what  the  matter  is,  and  he  claims  that  it  is 
malaria,  and  she  still  insists  and  asks,  "Dwell  I  but  in 
the  suburbs  of  your  good  pleasure?"  and  he  states, 
"You  are  my  true  and  honorable  wife,  as  dear  to  me 
as  are  the  ruddy  drops  that  visit  my  sad  heart."  I  for- 
got myself  and  wept  my  new  plug  hat  two-thirds  full. 
It  is  as  good  as  anything  there  is  in  Josh  Whitcomb's 
play. 

Booth  and  Barrett  have  the  making  of  good  actors 
in  them.  I  met  both  of  these  gentlemen  in  Wyoming 
some  years  ago.  We  met  by  accident.  They  were 
going  to  California  and  I  was  coming  back.  By  some 
oversight  we  had  both  selected  the  same  track,  and  we 
were  thrown  together.  I  do  not  know  whether  they 
will  recall  my  face  or  not.  I  was  riding  on  the  sleeper 
truck  at  the  time  of  the  accident.  I  always  take  a 
sleeper  and  always  did.  I  rode  on  the  truck  because  I 
didn't  want  to  ride  inside  the  car  and  have  to  associate 
with  a  wealthy  porter  who  looked  down  upon  me.  I 
am  the  man  who  was  found  down  the  creek  the  next 
day  gathering  wild  ferns  and  murmuring,  "Where 
am  I?" 

The  play  of  "Julius  Caesar"  is  one  which  brings  out 
the  meanness  and  magnetism  of  Cassias,  and  empha- 
sizes the  mistaken  patriotism  of  Brutus.  It  is  full  of 
pathos,  duplicity,  assassination,  treachery,  erroneous 
loyalty,  suicide,  hypocrisy,  and  all  the  intrigue,  jeal- 
ousy, cowardice  and  deviltry  which  characterized  the 
politics  of  fifty  years  B.  C.,  but  which  now,  thanks  to 
the  enlightenment  and  refinement  which  twenty  cen- 
turies have  brought,  are  known  no  more  forever.  Let 


40  JULIUS    CAESAR    IN    TOWN 

us  not  forget,  as  we  enter  upon  the  year  1888,  that  it 
is  a  Presidential  year,  and  that  all  acrimony  will  be 
buried  under  the  dew  and  the  daisies,  and  that  no 
matter  how  high  party  spirit  may  run,  there  will  be  no 
personal  enmity. 


His  First  Womern 


I  buried  my  first  womern 
In    the   spring;  '  and   in 

the  fall 
i    I    was    married     to    my 

second, 
And  haint  settled  yit  at 

all?— 
Fer    I'm    allus  thinkin' — 

thinkin' 

Of  the  first  one's  peace- 
ful ways, 

A-bilin'  soap  and  sing-in' 
Of    the   Lord's  amazin' 
grace. 

41 


42  HIS    FIRST    WOMERN 

And  I'm  thinkin'  of  her,  constant, 

Dyin'  carpet-chain  and  stuff, 
And  a-makin'  up  rag-carpets, 

When  the  floor  was  good  enough! 
And  I  mind  her  he'p  a-feedin' 

And  I  recollect  her  now 
A-drappin'  corn,  and  keepin' 

Clos't  behind  me  and  the  plow! 

And  I'm  alias  thinkin'  of  her 

Reddin'  up  around  the  house; 
Er  cookin'  fer  the  farm-hands; 

Er  a-drivin'  up  the  cows. — 
And  there  she  lays  out  yender 

By  the  lower  medder-fence, 
Where  the  cows  was  barely  grazin', 

And  they're  usin'  ever  sence. 

And  when  I  look  acrost  there — 

Say  its  when  the  clover's  ripe. 
And  I'm  settin',  in  the  evenin', 

On  the  porch  here,  with  my  pipe, 
And  the  other' 'n  hollers  "Henry!" — • 

W'y,  they  ain't  no  sadder  thing 
Than  to  think  of  my  first  womern 

And  her  funeral  last  spring 
Was  a  year  ago. 


This  Man  Jones 

This  man  Jones  was  what  you'd  call 

A  feller  'at  had  no  sand  at  all: 

Kindo  consumpted,  and  undersize, 

And  sailer-complected,  with  big  sad  eyes; 

And  a  kind-of-a-sort-of-a-hang-dog  style, 

And  a  sneakin'  kind-of-a-half-way  smile 

That  kindo  give  him  away  to  us 

As  a  preacher,  maybe,  or  sumpin'  wuss. 

Didn't  take  with  the  gang — well,  no — 

But  still  we  managed  to  use  him,  though, — 

Coddin'  the  gilley  along  the  rout' 

And  drivin'  the  stakes  that  he  pulled  out; — 

For  1  was  one  of  the  bosses  then 

And  of  course  stood  in  with  the  canvas-men- 

And  the  way  we  put  up  jobs,  you  know, 

On  this  man  Jones  jes'  beat  the  show! 

Used  to  rattle  him  scandalous, 
And  keep  the  feller  a-dodgin'  us, 
And  a-shyin'  round  jes'  skeered  to  death, 
And  a-feered  to  whimper  above  his  breath; 
Give  him  a  cussin',  and  then,  a  kick, 
And  then  a  kind-of-a  back-hand  lick — 
Jes'  for  the  fun  of  seein'  him  climb 
Around  with  a  head  on  half  the  time. 
43 


44  THIS    MAN    JONES 

But  what  was  the  curioust  thing-  to  me, 
Was  along  o'  the  party — let  me  see, — 
Who  was  our  "Lion  Queen"  last  year? — 
Mamzelle  Zanty,  er  De  La  Pierre? — 
Well,  no  matter! — a  stunnin'  it  ash, 
With  a  red-ripe  lip,  and  a  long  eye-lash, 
And  a  rigger  sich  as  the  ang-els  owns — 
And  one  too  many  for  this  man  Jones: 

He'd  always  wake  in  the  afternoon 

As  the  band  waltzed  in  on  "the  lion  tune,' 

And  there,  from  the  time  that  she'd  go  in, 

Till  she'd  back  out  of  the  cage  agin, 

He'd  stand,  shaky  and  limber-kneed — 

'Specially  when  she  come  to  "feed 

The  beast  raw  meat  with  her  naked  har>d"- 

And  all  that  business,  you  understand. 

And  it  u'as  resky  in  that  den — 

For  I  think  she  juggled  three  cubs  then, 

And  a  big  "green"  lion  'at  used  to  smasn 

Collar-bones  tor  old  Frank  Nash;. 

And  I  reckon  now  she  haint  forgot 

The  afternoon  old  "Nero"  sot 

His  paws  on  her: — but  as  for  me, 

It's  a  sort-of-a-mixed-up  mystery. 

Kindo'  remember  an  awful  roar, 
And  see  her  back  for  the  bolted  door — 
See  the  cage  rock — heerd  her  call 
"God  have  mercy!"  and  that  was  all — 
For  ther  haint  no  livin'  man  can  tell 
What  it's  like  when  a  thousand  yell 


THIS   MAN    JONES  45 

In  female  tones,  and  a  thousand  more 
Howl  in  bass  till  their  throats  is  sore! 

But  the  keeper  said  as  they  dragged  her  out> 
They  heerd  some  feller  laugh  and  shout: 
"Save  her!  Quick!  I've  got  the  cuss!" 
,   .   .  And  yit  she  waked  and  smiled  on  us! 
And  we  daren't  flinch — for  the  doctor  said, 
Seein'  as  this  man  Jones  was  dead, 
Better  to  jes'  not  let  her  know 
Nothin'  o'  that  for  a  week  or  so. 


How  to  Hunt  the  Fox 


HE  joyous  season  for  hunting  is  again 
.    ,          ,  upon  us,  and  with  the 

gentle  fall  of  the  au- 
tumn leaf  and  the 
sough  of  the  scented 
breezes  about 
the  gnarled  and 
naked  limbs  of 
the  wailing  trees 
—  the  huntsman 
comes  with  his 
hark  and  his 
halloo  and  hur- 
rah, boys,  the  swift  rush 
of  the  chase,  the  thrilling 
scamper  'cross  country, 
the  mad  dash  through  the 
Long  Islander's  pumpkin 
patch — also  the  mad  dash, 
dash,  dash  of  the  farmer, 
the  low  moan  of  the  disabled  and  frozen-toed  hen  as 
the  whooping  horsemen  run  her  down;  the  wild  shriek 
of  the  children,  the  low  melancholy  wail  of  the  fright- 
ened shoat  as  he  flees  away  to  the  straw  pile,  the  quick 
yet  muffled  plunk  of  the  frozen  tomato  and  the  dull 
scrunch  of  the  seed  cucumber. 

The  huntsman  now  takes  the  flannels  off  his  fox, 

46 


HOW    TO    HUNT    THE    FOX  47 

rubs  his  stiffened  limbs  with  gargling  oil,  ties  a  bunch 
of  firecrackers  to  his  tail  and  runs  him  around  the  barn 
a  few  times  to  see  if  he  is  in  good  order. 

The  foxhound  is  a  cross  of  the  bloodhound,  the 
grayhound,  the  bulldog  and  the  chump.  When  you 
step  on  his  tail  he  is  said  to  be  in  full  cry.  The  fox- 
hound obtains  from  his  ancestors  on  the  bloodhound 
side  of  the  house  his  keen  scene,  which  enables  him 
while  in  full  cry  'cross  country  to  pause  and  hunt  for 
chipmunks.  He  also  obtains  from  the  bloodhound 
branch  of  his  family  a  wild  yearning  to  star  in  an 
"Uncle  Tom"  company,  and  watch  little  Eva  meander 
up  the  flume  at  two  dollars  per  week.  From  the  gray- 
hound  he  gets  his  most  miraculous  speed,  which 
enables  him  to  attain  a  rate  of  velocity  so  great  that 
he  is  unable  to  halt  during  the  excitement  of  the 
chase,  frequently  running  so  far  during  the  day  that 
it  takes  him  a  week  to  get  back,  when,  of  course,  all 
interest  has  died  out.  From  the  bulldog  the  foxhound 
obtains  his  great  tenacity  of  purpose,  his  deep-seated 
convictions,  his  quick  perceptions,  his  love  of  home 
and  his  clinging  nature.  From  the  chump  the  fox- 
hound gets  his  high  intellectuality  and  that  mental 
power  which  enables  him  to  distinguish  almost  at  a 
glance  the  salient  points  of  difference  between  a  two- 
year-old  steer  and  a  two-dollar  bill. 

The  foxhound  is  about  two  feet  in  height,  and  120 
of  them  would  be  considered  an  ample  number  for  a 
quiet  little  fox  hunt.  Some  hunters  think  this  num- 
ber inadequate,  but  unless  the  fox  be  unusually  skit- 
tish and  crawl  under  the  barn,  120  foxhounds  ought 
to  be  enough.  The  trouble  generally  is  that  hunters 
make  too  much  noise,  thus  scaring  the  fox  so  that  he 


48  HOW    TO    HUNT    THE    FOX 

tries  to  get  away  from  them.  This  necessitates  hard 
riding  and  great  activity  on  the  part  of  the  whippers- 
in.  Frightening  a  fox  almost  always  results  in  send- 
ing him  out  of  the  road  and  compelling  horsemen  to 
stop  in  order  to  take  down  a  panel  of  fence  every  little 
while  that  they  may  follow  the  animal,  and  before  you 
can  get  the  fence  put  up  again  the  owner  is  on  the 
ground,  and  after  you  have  made  change  with  him 
and  mounted  again  the  fox  may  be  nine  miles  away. 
Try  by  all  means  to  keep  your  fox  in  the  road ! 

It  makes  a  great  difference  what  kind  of  fox  you 
use,  however.  I  once  had  a  fox  on  my  Pumpkin  Butte 
estates  that  lasted  me  three  years,  and  I  never  knew 
him  to  shy  or  turn  out  of  the  road  for  anything  but  a 
loaded  team.  He  was  the  best  fox  for  hunting  pur- 
poses that  I  ever  had.  Every  spring  I  would  sprinkle 
him  with  Scotch  snuff  and  put  him  away  in  the  bureau 
till  fall.  He  would  then  come  out  bright  and  chipper. 
He  was  always  ready  to  enter  into  the  chase  with  all 
the  chic  and  embonpoint  of  a  regular  Kenosha,  and 
nothing  pleased  him  better  than  to  be  about  eight 
miles  in  advance  of  my  thoroughbred  pack  in  full  cry, 
scampering  'cross  country,  while  stretching  back  a  few 
miles  behind  the  dogs  followed  a  pale  young  man  and 
his  financier,  each  riding  a  horse  that  had  sat  down  too 
hard  on  its  tail  some  time  and  driven  it  into  his  system 
about  six  joints. 

Some  hunters,  who  are  madly  and  passionately 
devoted  to  the  sport,  leap  their  horses  over  fences, 
moats,  donjon  keeps,  hedges  and  currant  bushes  with 
utter  sang  froid  and  the  wild,  unfettered  toot  ongsom- 
ble  of  a  brass  band.  It  is  one  of  the  most  spirited  and 
touchful  of  sights  tc  see  a  young  fox-hunter  going 


HOW    TO    HUNT    THE    FOX  49 

home  through  the  gloaming  with  a  full  cry  in  one 
hand  and  his  pancreas  in  the  other. 

Some  like  to  be  in  at  the  death,  as  it  is  called,  and  it 
is  certainly  a  laudable  ambition.  To  see  120  dogs  hold 
out  against  a  ferocious  fox  weighing  nine  pounds;  to 
watch  the  biave  little  band  of  dogs  and  \vhippers-in 
and  horses  with  sawed-off  tails,  making  up  in  heroism 
what  they  lack  in  numbers,  succeeding  at  last  in  rid- 
ding the  countiy  of  the  ferocious  brute  which  has  long 
bci  n  the  acknowledged  foe  of  the  Jiuman  race,  is 
indeed  a  fine  sight. 

We  are  too  apt  to  regard  fox-hunting  merely  as  a 
lelaxation,  a  source  of  pleasure,  and  the  result  of  a 
desire  to  do  the  way  people  do  in  the  novels  which  we 
steal  from  English  authors:  but  this  is  not  all.  To 
success!  ally  hunt  a  fox,  to  jump  fences  'crosscountry 
like  an  uniuly  steer,  is  no  child's  play.  To  ride  all 
day  on  a  very  hot  and  restless  saddle,  trying  to  lope 
while  your  horse  is  trotting,  giving  your  friends  a  good 
view  of  the  country  between  yourself  and  your  horse, 
then  leaping  sfcone  walls,  breaking  your  collar-bone  in 
four  places,  pulling  out  one  eye  and  leaving  it  hang- 
ing on  a  plum  tree,  or  going  home  at  night  with  youi 
transverse  colon  wrapped  around  the  pommel  of  your 
saddle  and  your  liver  in  an  old  newspaper,  requires 
the  greatest  courage. 

Too  much  stress  cannot  be  placed  upon  the  costume 
worn  while  fox-hunting,  and  in  fact,  that  is,  after  all, 
the  life  and  soul  of  the  chase.  For  ladies,  nothing 
looks  better  than  a  close-fitting  jacket,  sewed  together 
with  thread  of  the  same  shade  and  a  skirt.  Neat- 
fitting  cavalry  boots  and  a  plug  hat  complete  the  cos- 
tume. Then,  with  a  hue  in  one  hand  and  a  cry  in  the 


50 


HOW    TO    HUNT    THE    FOX 


other,  she  is  prepared  to  mount.  Lead  the  horse  up 
to  a  stone  wall  or  a  freight  car  and  spring  lightly  into 
the  saddle  with  a  glad  cry.  A  freight  car  is  the  best 
thing  from  which  to  mount  a  horse,  but  it  is  too 
unwieldy  and  frequently  delays  the  chase.  For  this 
reason,  too,  much  luggage  should  not  be  carried  on  a 
fox-hunt.  Some  gentlemen  carry  a  change  of  canes, 
neatly  concealed  in  a  shawl  strap,  but  even  this  may 
be  dispensed  with. 

For  gentlemen,  a  dark, 
four-button  cutaway  coat, 
with  neat,  loose  -  fitting, 
white  panties,  will  gener- 
ally scare  a  fox  into  con- 
vulsions, so  that  he  may 
be  easily  killed  with  a 
club.  A  short  -  waisted 
plug  hat  may  be  worn 
also,  in  order  to  distin- 
guish the  hunter  from  the 
whipper  in,  who  wears  a 
baseball  cap.  The  only 
fox-hunting  I  have  ever 
done  was  on  board  an  im- 
petuous,  tough-bitted, 
fore-and-aft  horse  that 
had  emotional  insanity. 
I  was  dressed  in  a  swal- 
low-tail coat,  waistcoat  of 
Scotch  plaid  Turkish  tow- 
eling, and  a  pair  of  close-fit- 
ting breeches  of  etiquette 
tucked  into  my  boot-tops. 


HOW    TO    HUNT    THE    FOX  51 

As  I  was  away  from  home  at  the  time  and  could  not 
reach  my  own  steed  I  was  obliged  to  mount  a  spirited 
steed  with  high,  intellectual  hips,  one  white  eye  and  a 
big  red  nostril  that  you  could  set  a  Shanghai  hen  in. 
This  horse,  as  soon  as  the  pack  broke  into  full  cry, 
climbed  over  a  fence  that  had  wrought-iron  briers  on 
it,  lit  in  a  corn  field,  stabbed  his  hind  leg  through  a 
sere  and  yellow  pumbkin,  which  he  wore  the  rest  of 
the  day,  with  seven  yards  of  pumpkin  vine  streaming 
out  behind,  and  away  we  dashed  'cross  country.  I 
remained  mounted  not  because  I  enjoyed  it,  for  I  did 
not,  but  because  I  dreaded  to  dismount.  I  hated  to 
get  off  in  pieces.  If  I  can't  get  off  a  horse's  back  as  a 
whole,  I  would  rather  adhere  to  the  horse.  I  will 
adhere  that  I  did  so. 

We  did  not  see  the  fox,  but  we  saw  almost  every- 
thing else.  I  remember,  among  other  things,  of  rid- 
ing through  a  hothouse,  and  how  I  enjoyed  it.  A 
morning  scamper  through  a  conservatory  when  the 
syringas  and  Jonquils  and  Jack  roses  lie  cuddled  up 
together  in  their  little  beds,  is  a  thing  to  remember 
and  look  back  to  and  pay  for.  To  stand  knee-deep  in 
glass  and  gladiolas,  to  smell  the  mashed  and  mussed 
up  mignonette  and  the  last  fragrant  sigh  of  the 
scrunched  heliotrope  beneath  the  hoof  of  your  horse, 
while  far  away  the  deep-mouthed  baying  of  the  hoarse 
hounds,  hotly  hiigging  the  reeking  trail  of  the  anise- 
seed  bag,  calls  on  the  gorgeously  caparisoned  hills  to 
give  back  their  merry  music  or  fork  it  over  to  other 
answering  hills,  is  joy  to  the  huntsman's  heart. 

On,  on  I  rode  with  my  unconfmed  locks  streaming 
behind  me  in  the  autumn  wind.  On  and  still  on  I 
sped,  the  big,  bright  pumpkin  slipping  up  and  down 


52  HOW    TO    HUNT    THE    FOX 

the  gambrel  of  my  spirited  horse  at  every  jump.  On 
and  ever  on  we  went,  shedding  terror  and  pumpkin 
seeds  along  our  glittering  track  till  my  proud  steed  ran 
his  leg  in  a  gopher  hole  and  fell  over  one  of  those 
machines  that  they  put  on  a  high-headed  steer  to  keep 
him  from  jumping  fences.  As  the  horse  fell,  the 
necklace  of  this  hickory  poke  flew  up  and  adjusted  itself 
around  my  throat.  In  an  instant  my  steed  was  on  his 
feet  again,  and  gayly  we  went  forward  while  the  prong 
of  this  barbarous  appliance,  ever  and  anon  plowed  into 
a  brand  new  culvert  or  rooted  up  a  clover  field.  Every 
time  it  ran  into  an  orchard  or  a  cemetery  it  would  jar 
my  neck  and  knock  me  silly.  But  I  could  see  with  joy 
that  it  reduced  the  speed  of  my  horse.  At  last  as  the 
sun  went  down,  reluctantly,  it  seemed  to  me,  for  he 
knew  that  he  would  never  see  such  riding  again,  my 
ill-spent  horse  fell  with  a  hollow  moan,  curled  up,  gave 
a  spasmodic  quiver  with  his  little,  nerveless,  sawed-off 
tail  and  died. 

The  other  huntsmen  succeeded  in  treeing  the  anise- 
seed  bag  at  sundown,  in  time  to  catch  the  6  o'clock 
train  home. 

Fox-hunting  is  one  of  the  most  thrilling  pastimes  of 
which  I  know,  and  for  young  men  whose  parents  have 
amassed  large  sums  of  money  in  the  intellectual  pur- 
suit of  hides  and  tallow,  the  meet,  the  chase,  the 
scamper,  the  full  cry,  the  cover,  the  stellated  fracture, 
the  yelp  of  the  pack,  the  yip,  the  yell  of  triumph,  the 
confusion,  the  whoop,  the  holla,  the  hallos,  the  hurrah, 
the  abrasion,  the  snort  of  the  hunter,  the  concussion, 
the  sward,  the  open,  the  earth  stopper,  the  strangu- 
lated hernia,  the  glad  cry  of  the  hound  as  he  brings 
home  the  quivering  seat  of  the  peasant's  pantaloons, 


HOW    TO    HUNT    THE    FOX  53 

the  yelp  of  joy  as  he  lays  at  his  master's  feet,  the 
strawberry  mark  of  the  rustic,  all,  all  are  exhilarating 
to  the  sons  of  our  American  nobility. 

Fox-hunting  combines  the  danger  and  the  wild, 
tumultuous  joy  of  the  skating-rink,  the  toboggan  >lide, 
the  mush-and-milk  sociable  and  the  straw  ride. 

With  a  good  horse,  an  air  cushion,  a  icliable  earth- 
stopper  and  an  anise-seed  bag,  a  man  must  indeed  be 
thoroughly  blase  who  cannot  enjoy  a  scamper  acioss 
counti y,  over  the  Pennsylvania  wold,  the  New  Jersey 
mere,  the  Connecticut  moor,  the  Indiana  glade,  the 
Missouri  brake,  the  Michigan  mead,  the  American 
tarn,  the  fen,  the  gulch,  the  buffalo  wallow,  the  cran- 
berry mar:-h,  tne  glen,  the  draw,  the  canyon,  the 
ravine,  the  folks,  the  bottom  or  the  settlement. 

For  the  young  American  nobleman  whose  ducat 
father  made  his  money  by  inventing  a  fluent  pill,  or 
who  gained  his  great  wealth  through  relieving  human- 
ity by  means  of  a  lung  pad,  a  liver  pad,  a  kidney  pad 
or  a  foot  pad,  fox-huniing  is  first  rate. 


The  Boy  Friend 


LARENCE,    my    boy- 
friend,   hale    and 
strong, 
O,  he  is  as  jolly  as  he  is 

young; 
And  all  of  the  laughs  of 

the  lyre  belong 
To  the  boy  all  unsung: 

So   I   want  to  sing  some- 
thing in  his  behalf — 
To  clang  some  chords,  of  the  good  it  is 
To  know  he  is  near,  and  to  have  the  laugh 
Of  that  wholesome  voice  of  his. 

I  want  to  tell  him  in  gentler  ways 

Than  prose  may  do,  that  the  arms  of  rhym«. 
Warm  and  tender  with  tuneful  praise, 

Are  about  him  all  the  time. 

I  want  him  to  know  that  the  quietest  nights 
We  have  passed  together  are  yet  with  me 

Roistering  over  the  old  delights 
That  were  born  of  his  company. 
54 


THE   BOY    FRIEND  55 

I  want  him  to  know  how  my  soul  esteems 

The  fairy  stories  of  Andersen, 
And  the  glad  translations  of  all  the  themes 

Of  the  hearts  of  boyish  men. 

Want  him  to  know  that  my  fancy  flows, 
With  the  lilt  of  a  dear  old-fashioned  tune. 

Through  "Lewis  Carroll's"  poemly  prose, 
And  the  tale  of  "The  Bold  Dragoon." 

O,  this  is  the  Prince  that  I  would  sing — 

Would  drape  and  garnish  in  velvet 
Since  courtlier  far  than  any  king 

Is  this  brave  boy-friend  of  mine  I 


A   Letter  of  Acceptance 

The  secretary  of  the  Ashfield  Farmer's  Club,  of 
Ashfield,  Mass.,  Mr.  E.  D.  Church,  informs  me  by 
United  States  mail  that  upon  receipt  of  my  favorable 
reply  I  will  become  an  honorary  member  of  that  Club, 
along  with  George  William  Curtis,  Prof.  Norton,  Prof. 
Stanley  Hall,  of  Harvard,  and  other  wet-browed  toil- 
ers in  the  catnip-infested  domain  of  Agriculture. 

I  take  this  method  of  thanking  the  Ashfield  Farmers' 
Club,  through  its  secretary,  for  the  honor  thus  all  so 
unworthily  bestowed,  and  joyfully  accept  the  honorary 
membership,  with  the  understanding,  however,  that 
during  the  County  Fair  the  solemn  duty  of  delivering 
the  annual  address  from  the  judges'  stand,  in  tones 
that  will  not  only  ring  along  down  the  corridors  of 
time,  but  go  thundering  thiee  times  around  a  half-mile 
track  and  be  heard  above  the  rhythmic  plunk  of  the 
hired  man  who  is  trying  to  ascertain,  by  means  of  a 
large  mawl  and  a  thumping  machine,  how  hard  he  can 
strike,  shall  fall  upon  Mr.  Curtis  or  other  honorary 
members  of  the  club.  I  have  a  voice  that  does  very 
well  to  express  endearment,  or  other  subdued  emo- 
tions, but  it  is  not  effective  at  a  County  Fair.  Spec- 
tators see  the  wonderful  play  of  my  features,  but  they 
only  hear  the  low  refrain  of  the  haughty  Clydesdale 
steed,  who  has  a  neighsal  voice  and  wears  his  tail  in  a 

56 


A    LETTER   OF    ACCEPTANCE 


5? 


Grecian  coil      I  received  $150   once  for  addressing  a 
race-track  one  mile  in  length  on  "The  Use  and  Abuse 


of  Ensilage  as  a  Narcotic."  I  made  the  gestures,  but 
the  sentiments  were  those  of  the  four-ton  Percheron 
charger,  Little  Medicine,  dam  Eloquent. 


58  A    LETTER    OF    ACCEPTANCE 

I  spoke  under  a  low  shed  and  rather  adverse  circum- 
stances. In  talking  with  the  committee  afterwards,  as 
I  wrapped  up  my  gestures  and  put  them  back  in  the 
shawl  strap,  I  said  that  I  felt  almost  ashamed  to  receive 
such  a  price  for  the  sentiments  of  others,  but  they  said 
that  was  all  right.  No  one  expected  to  hear  an  Agri- 
cultural Address.  They  claimed  that  it  was  most 
generally  purely  spectacular,  and  so  they  regarded  my 
speech  as  a  great  success.  I  used  the  same  gestures 
afterwards  in  speaking  of  "The  Great  Falling  Off 
among  Bare-Back  Riders  in  the  Circuses  of  the  Pres- 
ent Day." 

I  would  also  like  to  be  excused  from  any  duties  as  a 
judge  of  curly-faced  stock  or  as  an  umpire  of  orna- 
mental needlework.  After  a  person  has  had  a  fountain 
pen  kicked  endwise  through  his  chest  by  the  animal  to 
which  he  has  awarded  the  prize,  and  later  on  has  his 
features  worked  up  into  a  giblet  pie  by  the  owner  of 
the  animal  to  whom  he  did  not  award  the  prize,  he 
does  not  ask  for  public  recognition  at  the  hands  of  his 
fellow-citizens.  It  is  the  same  in  the  matter  of  orna- 
mental needlework  and  gaudy  quilts,  which  goad  a 
man  to  drink  and  death.  While  I  am  proud  to  belong 
to  a  farmers'  club  and  "change  works"  with  a  hearty, 
whole-souled  ploughman  like  George  William  Curtis, 
I  hope  that  at  all  County  Fairs  or  other  intellectual 
hand-to-hand  contests  between  outdoor  orators  and 
other  domestic  animals,  I  may  be  excused,  and  that 
when  judges  of  inflamed  slumber  robes  and  restless 
tidies,  which  roll  up  and  fall  over  the  floor  or  adhere 
to  the  backs  of  innocent  people;  or  stiff,  hard  Doric 
pillor-shams  which  do  not  in  any  way  enhance  the  joys 
of  sleep;  or  beautiful,  pale-blue  satin  pincushions 


A    LETTER    OF    ACCEPTANCE  5t 

which  it  would  be  wicked  to  put  a  pin  in  and  which 
will  therefore  ever  and  forevermore  mock  the  man  who 
really  wants  a  pin,  just  as  a  beautiful  match-safe 
stands  idly  through  the  long  vigils  of  the  night,  year 
after  year,  only  to  laugh  at  the  man  who  staggers 
towards  it  and  falls  up  against  it  and  finds  it  empty; 
or  like  the  glorious  inkstand  which  is  so  pretty  and  so 
fragile  that  it  stands  around  with  its  hands  in  its 
pockets  acquiring  dust  and  dead  flies  for  centuries,  so 
that  when  you  are  in  a  hurry  you  stick  your  pen  into  a 
small  chamber  of  horrors — I  say  when  the  judges  are 
selected  for  this  department  I  would  rather  have  my 
name  omitted  from  the  panel,  as  I  have  formed  or 
expressed  an  opinion  and  have  reasonable  doubts  and 
conscientious  scruples  which  it  would  require  testi- 
mony to  remove,  and  I  am  not  qualified  anyway,  and 
I  have  been  already  placed  in  jeopardy  once,  and  that 
is  enough. 

Mr.  Church  writes  that  the  club  has  taken  up,  dis- 
cussed and  settled  all  points  of  importance  bearing 
upon  Agriculture,  from  the  tariff  up  to  the  question  of 
whether  or  not  turpentine  poured  in  a  cow's  ear  ameli- 
orates the  pangs  of  hollow  horn.  He  desires  sug- 
gestions and  questions  for  discussion.  That  shows  the 
club  to  be  thoroughly  alive.  It  will  soon  be  Spring, 
and  we  cannot  then  discuss  these  matters.  New 
responsibilities  will  be  added  day  by  day  in  the  way  of 
stock,  and  we  will  have  to  think  of  names  for  them 
Would  it  not  be  well  before  the  time  comes  for  active 
farm  work  to  think  out  a  long  list  of  names  before  the 
little  strangers  arrive?  Nothing  serves  to  lower  us  in 
the  estimation  of  our  fellow-farmers  or  the  world  more 
than  the  frequent  altercations  between  owners  and 


60  A    LETTER    OF    ACCEPTANCE 

their  hired  help  over  what  name  they  shall  give  a 
weary,  wobbly  calf  who  has  just  entered  the  great 
arena  of  life,  full  of  hopes  and  aspirations,  perhaps, 
but  otherwise  absolutely  empty.  Let  us  consider  this 
before  Spring  fairly  opens,  so  that  we  may  be  prepared 
for  anything  of  this  kind. 

One  more  point  may  properly  come  before  the  club 
at  its  next  meeting,  and  I  mention  it  here  because  I 
may  be  so  busy  at  Washington  looking  after  our  other 
interests  that  I  cannot  get  to  the  club  meeting.  I 
refer  to  the  evident  change  in  climate  here  from  year 
to  year,  and  its  effect  upon  seeds  purchased  of  florists 
and  seedsmen  generally. 

Twenty  years  ago  you  could  plant  a  seed  according 
to  directions  and  it  would  produce  a  plant  which 
seemed  to  resemble  in  a  general  way  the  picture  on  the 
outside  of  the  package.  Now,  under  the  fluctuating 
influences  of  irresponsible  isotherms,  phlegmatic 
Springs,  rare  June  weather  and  overdone  weather  in 
August,  I  find  it  almost  impossible  to  produce  a  plant 
or  vegetable  which  in  any  way  resembles  its  portrait. 
Is  it  my  fault  or  the  fault  of  the  climate?  I  wish  the 
club  would  take  hold  of  this  at  its  next  regular  meet- 
ing. I  first  noticed  the  change  in  the  summer  of  '72, 
I  think.  I  purchased  a  small  package  of  early  Scotch 
plaid  curled  kale  with  a  beautiful  picture  on  the  out- 
side. It  was  as  good  a  picture  of  Scotch  kale  as  I  ever' 
saw.  I  could  imagine  how  gay  and  light-hearted  it 
was  the  day  when  it  went  up  to  the  studio  and  had  its 
picture  taken  for  this  purpose.  A  short  editorial  para- 
graph under  the  picture  stated  that  I  should  plant  in 
quick,  rich  soil,  in  rows  four  inches  apart,  to  a  depth 
of  one  inch,  cover  lightly  and  then  roll.  I  did  so.  No 


A    LETTER    OF    ACCEPTANCE  61 

farmer  of  my  years  enjoys  rolling  better  than 
I  do. 

In  a  few  weeks  the  kale  came  up  but  turned  out  to 
be  a  canard.  I  then  waited  two  weeks  more  and  other 
forms  of  vegetation  made  their  appearance.  None  of 
them  were  kale.  A  small  delegation  of  bugs  which 
deal  mostly  with  kale  came  into  the  garden  one  day, 
looked  at  the  picture  on  the  discarded  paper,  then 
examined  what  had  crawled  out  through  the  ground 
and  went  away.  I  began  to  fear  then  that  climatic 
influences  had  been  at  work  on  the  seeds,  but  I  had 
not  fully  given  up  all  hope. 

At  first  the  plants  seemed  to  waver  and  hesitate  over 
whether  they  had  better  be  wild  parsnips  or  Lima 
beans.  Then  I  concluded  that  they  had  decided  to  be 
foliage  plants  or  rhubarb.  But  they  did  not  try  to  live 
up  to  their  portraits.  Pretty  soon  I  discovered  that 
they  had  no  bugs  which  seemed  to  go  with  them,  and 
then  I  knew  they  were  weeds.  Things  that  are  good 
to  eat  always  have  bugs  and  worms  on  them,  while 
tansy  and  castor-oil  go  through  life  unmolested. 

I  ordered  a  new  style  of  gladiola  eight  years  ago  of  a 
man  who  had  his  poi  trait  in  the  bow  of  his  seed  cata- 
logue. If  he  succeeds  no  better  in  resembling  his 
portrait  than  his  gladiolas  did  in  resembling  theirs,  he 
must  be  a  human  onion  whose  presence  may  easily  be 
detected  at  a  great  distance. 

Last  year  I  planted  the  seeds  of  a  watermelon  which 
I  bought  of  a  New  York  seedsman  who  writes  war 
articles  winters  and  sells  garden  seeds  in  the  Spring. 
The  portrait  of  this  watermelon  would  tempt  most  any 
man  to  climb  a  nine-rail  fence  in  the  dead  of  night  and 
forget  all  else  in  order  to  drown  his  better  nature  and 


6?  A    LETTER    OF    ACCEPTANCE 

his  nose  in  its  cool  bosom.  People  came  for  miles  to 
look  at  the  picture  of  this  melon  and  went  away  with 
a  pleasant  taste  in  their  mouths. 

The  plants  were  a  little  sluggish,  though  I  planted 
in  hills  far  apart  each  way  in  a  rich  warm  loam 
enriched  by  everything  that  could  make  a  sincere 
watermelon  get  up  and  hump  itself.  The  melons 
were  to  be  very  large  indeed,  with  a  center  like  a  rose. 
According  to  the  picture,  these  melons  generally  grew 
so  large  and  plenty  that  most  everybody  had  to  put 
side-boards  on  the  garden  fence  to  keep  them  from 
falling  over  into  other  farms  and  annoying  people 
who  had  all  the  melons  they  needed.  I  fought  squash 
bugs,  cut  worms,  Hessian  flies,  chinch  bugs,  curculio, 
mange,  pip,  drought,  dropsy,  caterpillars  and  con- 
tumely till  the  latter  part  of  August,  when  a  friend 
from  India  came  to  visit  me.  I  decided  to  cut  a  water- 
melon in  honor  of  his  arrival.  When  the  proper 
moment  had  arrived  and  the  dinner  had  progressed 
till  the  point  of  fruit,  the  tropical  depths  of  my  garden 
gave  up  their  season's  wealth  in  the  shape  of  a  low- 
browed citron  about  as  large  and  succulent  as  a  hot 
ball. 

I  have  had  other  similar  experiences,  and  I  think  we 
ought  to  do  something  about  it  if  we  can.  I  have 
planted  the  seed  of  the  morning  glory  and  the  moon 
flower  and  dreamed  at  night  that  my  home  looked  like 
a  florist's  advertisement,  but  when  leafy  June  came  a 
bunch  of  Norway  oats  and  a  hill  of  corn  were  trying  to 
climb  the  strings  nailed  up  for  the  use  of  my  non-resi- 
dent vines.  I  have  planted  with  song  and  laughter  the 
seeds  of  the  ostensible  pansy  and  carnation,  only  in 
tears  to  reap  the  bachelor's  button  and  the  glistening 


A   LETTER   OF   ACCEPTANCE  63 

foliage  of  the  sorghum  plant.  I  have  planted  in  faith 
and  a  deep,  warm  soil,  with  pleasing  hope  in  my  heart 
and  a  dark-red  picture  on  the  outside  of  the  package, 
only  to  harvest  the  low,  vulgar  jimson  weed  and  the 
night-blooming  bull  thistle. 

Does  the  mean  temperature  or  the  average  rainfall 
have  anything  to  do  with  it?  If  statistics  are  working 
these  changes  they  ought  to  be  stopped.  For  my  own' 
part,  however,  I  am  led  to  believe  that  our  seedsmen 
put  so  much  money  into  their  catalogues  that  they  do 
not  have  anything  left  to  use  in  the  purchase  of  seeds. 
Good  religion  and  very  fair  cookies  may  be  produced 
without  the  aid  of  caraway  seed,  but  you  cannot  gather 
nice,  fresh  train  figs  of  thistles  or  expect  much  of  a 
seedsman  whose  plants  make  no  effort  whatever  to 
resemble  their  pictures. 

Hoping  that  you  will  examine  into  this  matter,  and 
that  the  club  will  always  hereafter  look  carefully  in 
this  column  for  its  farm  information,  I  remain,  in  a 
sitting  posture,  yours  truly. 

BILL  NYE. 


YOU  IN  THE  HAMMOCK;    AND    I,    NEAR  BY, 


In  the  Afternoon 

You  in  the  hammock ;  and  I,  near  by, 

Was  trying  to  read,  and  to  swing  you,  too; 

And  the  grten  of  the  sward  was  so  kind  to  the  eye, 
And  the  shade  of  the  maples  so  cool  and  blue, 
Thav  often  I  looked  from  the  book  to  you 

To  say  as  much,  with  a  sigh. 

'  You  in  the  hammock.     The  book  we'd  brought 
From  the  panor — to  read  in  the  open  air, — 

Something  of  love  and  of  Launcelot 
And  Guinevere,  I  believe,  was  there — 
But  the  afternoon,  it  was  far  more  fair 

Than  the  poem  was,  I  thought. 

You  in  the  hammock;  and  on  and  on 

I  droned  and  droned  through  the  rhythmic  stuff- 
But  with  always  a  half  of  my  vision  gone 

Over  the  top  of  the  page — enough 

To  caressingly  gaze  at  you,  swathed  in  the  fluff 
Of  your  hair  and  your  odorous  lawn. 

You  in  the  hammock — And  that  was  a  year — 
Fully  a  year  ago,  I  guess! — 

And  what  do  we  care  for  their  Guinevere 
And  her  Launcelot  and  their  lordliness!— 
You  in  the  hammock  still,  and — Yes — 

Kiss  me  again,  my  dear! 

65 


The  Rise  and  Fall  of  William 
Johnson 

(A  CHRISTMAS  STORY) 

T  has  always  been 
one  of  my  pet  no- 
tions  that  or> 
Christmas  day  we 
ought  not  to  re- 
member those 
only  who  may  be 
related  to  us  and 
those  who  are 
prosperous,  but, 
that  we  should, 
while  remember- 
ing them,  forget 
not  the  unfortu- 
nate who  are  dead 
to  all  the  world 
but  themselves 
and  who  suffer  in 
prison  walls,  not 
alone  for  their  own  crimes,  perhaps,  but  for  the  crimes 
of  their  parents  and  their  grandparents  before  them. 
Few  of  the  prosperous  and  happy  pause  to-day  to  think 
of  the  convict  whose  days  are  all  alike  and  whose 
nights  are  filled  with  bitterness, 

66 


THE  RISE  AND  FALL  OT  WILLIAM  JOHNSON  67 

At  the  risk  of  being  dull  and  prosy,  I  am  going  to 
tell  a  story  that  is  not  especially  humorous  or  pathetic, 
but  merely  true.  Every  Christmas  I  try  to  tell  a  true 
story.  I  do  not  want  the  day  to  go  by  without  some 
soit  of  recognition  by  which  to  distinguish  it  from 
other  days,  and  so  I  celebrate  it  in  that  way. 

This  is  the  story  of  William  Johnson,  a  Swede,  who 
went  to  Wyoming  Territory,  perhaps  fifteen  years 
ago,  to  seek  his  fortune  among  strangers,  and  who, 
without  even  a  knowledge  of  the  English  language, 
began  in  his  patient  way  to  woik  at  whatever  his 
hands  found  to  do.  He  was  a  plain,  long-legged  man, 
with  downcast  e)'es  and  nose. 

There  was  some  surpiise  expressed  all  around  when 
he  was  charged  one  day  by  Jake  Feinn  with  feloniously 
taking,  stealing,  carrying  away  and  driving  away  one 
team  of  horses,  the  property  of  the  affiant,  and  of  the 
value  of  $200  contrary  to  the  statutes  in  such  case 
made  and  provided,  and  against  the  peace  and  dignity 
of  the  Territory  of  Wyoming.  • 

Everybody  laughed  at  the  idea  of  Jake  Feinn  own- 
ing a  team  worth  $200,  and,  as  he  was  also  a  chronic 
litigator,  it  was  generally  conceded  that  Johnson  would 
be  discharged.  But  his  misfortunes  seemed  to  swoop 
down  on  him  from  the  very  first  moment.  At  the  pre- 
liminary examination  Johnson  acted  like  a  man  who 
was  dazed.  He  couldn't  talk  or  understand  English 
very  well.  He  failed  to  get  a  lawyer.  He  pleaded 
guilty,  not  knowing  what  it  meant,  and  was  permitted 
to  take  it  back.  He  had  no  witnesses,  and  the  Court 
was  in  something  of  a  hurry  as  it  had  to  prepare  a 
speech  that  afternoon  to  be  delivered  in  the  evening 
on  the  "Beauties  of  Eternal  Justice,"  and  so  it  was 


68 


THE  RISE  AND  FALL  OF  WILLIAM  JOHNSON 


adjudged  that  in  default  of  $500  bail  the  said  William 
Johnson  be  committed  to  the  County  Jail  of  Albany 
County  in  said  Territory,  there  to  await  the  action  of 
the  Grand  Jury  for  the  succeeding  term  of  the  District 
Court  for  the  Second  Judicial  District  of  Wyoming. 

Meekly  and  silently  William  Johnson  left  the  warm 
and  stimulating  Indian  summer  air  of  October  to  enter 


L 


the  dark  and  undesirable  den  of  a  felon.  Patiently  he 
accepted  the  heart-breaking  destiny  which  seemed 
really  to  belong  to  some  one  else.  He  put  in  his  days 
studying  an  English  primer  all  the  forenoon  and  doing 
housework  around  the  jail  kitchen  in  the  afternoon. 

He  was  a  very  tall  man  and  a  very  awkward  man, 
with  large,  intellectual  joints  and  a  sad  face.  When 
he  got  so  that  he  could  read  a  little  I  went  in  to  hear 


THE  RISE  AND  f  ALL  OF  WILLIAM  JOHNSON  69 

him  one  day.  He  stood  up  like  an  exaggerated  school- 
boy, and  while  he  bored  holes  in  the  page  of  his 
primer  with  a  long  and  corneous  forefinger  he  read 
that  little  poem : 

Pray  tell  me,  bird,  what  you  can  see 
Up  in  the  top  of  that  tall  tree? 
Have  you  no  fear  that  some  rude  boy 
May  come  and  mar  your  peace  and  joy? 

Oh,  no,  my  child,  I  fear  no  harm, 
While  with  my  song  I  thus  can  charm. 
My  mate  is  here,  my  youngsters,  too, 
And  here  we  sit  and  sing  to  you. 

Finally,  the  regular  term  of  the  District  Court 
opened.  Men  who  had  come  for  a  long  distance  to 
vaunt  their  ignorance  and  other  qualifications  as  jurors 
could  be  seen  on  the  streets.  Here  and  there  you 
could  see  the  familiar  faces  of  those  who  had  served  as 
jurors  for  years  and  yet  had  never  lost  a  case. 
Wealthy  delinquents  began  to  subpoena  large  detach- 
ments of  witnesses  at  the  expense  of  the  county,  and 
the  poor  petty  larceny  people  in  the  jail  began  to  won- 
der why  their  witnesses  didn't  show  up.  Slowly  the 
wheels  of  Justice  began  to  revolve.  Ever  and  anon 
could  be  heard  the  strident  notes  which  came  from  the 
room  where  the  counsel  for  the  defense  was  filing  his 
objections,  while  now  and  then  the  ear  was  startled 
with  the  low  quash  of  the  indictment. 

Finally  the  case  of  the  Territory  against  William 
Johnson  was  called. 

"Mr.  Johnson,"  asked  Judge  Blair,  "have  you 
counsel?" 


70  THE  RISE  AND  FALL  OF  WILLIAM  JOHNSON 

The  defendant  said  he  had  not. 

"Are  you  able  to  employ  counsel?" 

He  evidently  wasn't  able  to  employ  counsel  twenty 
minutes,  even  if  it  could  be  had  at  a  dollar  a  day. 

"Do  you  wish  to  have  the  Court  appoint  counsel  for 
you?" 

He  saw  no  other  way,  so  he  said  yes. 

Where  criminals  are  too  poor  to  employ  counsel  the 
Court  selects  a  poor  but  honest  young  lawyer,  who 
practices  on  the  defendant.  I  was  appointed  that  way 
myself  once  to  defend  a  man  who  swears  he  will  kill 
me  as  soon  as  he  gets  out  of  the  penitentiary. 

William  Johnson  was  peculiarly  unfortunate  in  the 
election  of  his  counsel.  The  man  who  was  appointed 
to  defend  him  was  a  very  much  overestimated  young 
man  who  started  the  movement  himself.  He  was 
courageous,  however,  and  perfectly  willing  to  wade  iff 
where  angels  would  naturally  hang  back.  His  brain 
would  not  have  soiled  the  finest  fabric,  but  his  egotism 
had  a  biceps  muscle  on  it  like  a  loaf  of  Vienna  bread. 
He  was  the  kind  of  young  man  who  loves  to  go  and 
see  the  drama  and  explain  it  along  about  five  minutes 
in  advance  of  the  company  in  a  loud,  trenchant  voice 

He  defended  William  Johnson.  Thus  in  the  prime 
of  life,  hardly  understanding  a  word  of  the  trial, 
stunned,  helpless,  alone,  the  latter  began  upon  his  term 
of  five  years  in  the  penitentiary.  His  patient,  gentle 
face  impressed  me  as  it  did  others,  and  his  very  help- 
lessness thus  became  his  greatest  help. 

It  is  not  egotism  which  prompts  me  to  tell  here  of 
what  followed.  It  was  but  natural  that  I  should  go  to 
Judge  Blair,  who,  besides  being  the  most  popular 
Judge  in  the  West,  had,  as  I  knew,  a  kind  heart.  He 


THE  RISE  AND  FALL  OF  WILLIAM  JOHNSON 


71 


agreed  with  me  that  Johnson's  side  of  the  case  had  not 
been  properly  presented  and  that  the  jury  had  grave 
doubts  about  the  horses  having  been  worth  enough  to 
constitute  a  felony  even  if  Johnson  had  unlawfully 
taken  them.  Other  lawyers  said  that  at  the  worst  it 
was  a  civil  offense,  or  trover,  or  trespass,  or  wilful 
negligence,  or  embezzlement,  or  conversion,  but  that 


the  remedy  was  by  civil  process.  One  lawyer  said  it 
was  an  outrage,  and  Charlie  Bramel  said  that  if  John- 
son would  put  up  $50  he  would  agree  to  jerk  him  out 
of  the  jug  on  a  writ  of  habeas  corpus  before  dinner. 

Seeing  how  the  sentiment  ran,  I  resolved  to  start  a 
petition  for  Johnson's  pardon.     I  got  the  signatures 


72  THE  RISE  AND  FALL  OF  WILLIAM  JOHNSON 

of  the  Court,  the  court  officers,  the  jury  and  the  lead- 
ing men  of  business  in  the  country.  Just  as  I  was 
about  to  take  it  to  Gov.  Thayer,  there  was  an  incident 
at  the  penitentiary.  William  Johnson  had  won  the 
hearts  of  the  Warden  and  the  guards  to  that  extent 
that  he  was  sent  out  one  afternoon  to  assist  one  of  the 
guards  in  overseeing  the  labor  of  a  squad  working  in  a 
stone  quarry  near  by.  Taking  advantage  of  a  time 
when  the  guard  was  a  few  hundred  feet  away,  the 
other  convicts  knocked  Johnson  down  and  tried  to  get 
away.  He  got  up,  however,  and  interested  them  till 
the  guard  got  to  him  and  the  escape  was  prevented 
Johnson  waited  till  all  was  secure  again,  and  then 
fainted  from  loss  of  blood  occasioned  by  a  scalp  wound 
oTrer-  which  he  had  a  long  fight  afterward  with  ery- 
sipelas. 

Tiiis  was  all  lucky  for  me,  and  when  I  presented  the 
petition  to  the  Governor  I  had  a  strong  case,  made 
more  so  by  the  heroic  action  of  a  man  who  had  been 
unjustly  condemned. 

There  is  but  little  more  to  tell.  The  Governor  inti- 
mated that  he  would  take  favorable  action  upon  the 
petition^  but  he  wanted  time.  My  great  anxiety,  as  I 
told  him,  was  to  get  the  pardon  in  time  so  that  John- 
son could  spend  his  Christmas  in  freedom,  I  had  seen 
him  frequently,  and  he  was  pale  and  thin  to  emacia- 
tion. He  could  not  live  long  if  he  remained  where  he 
was.  I  spoke  earnestly  of  his  good  character  since  his 
incarceration,  and  the  Governor  promised  prompt 
action.  But  he  was  called  away  in  December  and  I 
feared  that  he  might,  in  the  rush  and  pressure  of  other 
business,  forget  the  case  of  Johnson  till  after  the  holi- 
days. So  I  telegraphed  him  and  made  his  life  a  bur- 


THE  RISE  AND  FALL  OF  WILLIAM  JOHNSON  73 

den  to  him  till  the  afternoon  of  the  24th,  when  the 
4:50  train  brought  the  pardon.  In  my  poor,  weak 
way  I  have  been  in  the  habit  for  some  years  of  making 
Christmas  presents,  but  nothing  that  could  be  bought 
with  money  ever  made  me  a  happier  donor  or  donee 
than  the  simple  act  of  giving  to  William  Johnson  four 
years  of  freedom  which  he  did  not  look  for. 

I  went  away  to  spend  my  own  Christmas,  but  not 
till  I  had  given  Johnson  a  few  dollars  to  help  him  get 
another  start,  and  had  made  him  promise  to  write  me 
how  he  got  along.  And  so  that  to  me  was  a  memor- 
able and  a  joyous  Christmas,  for  I  had  made  myself 
happy  by  making  others  happy. 

BILL  NYE. 

P.  S. — Perhaps  I  ought  not  to  close  this  account  so 
abruptly  as  I  have  done,  for  the  reader  will  naturally 
ask  whether  Johnson  ever  wrote  me,  as  he  said  he 
would.  I  only  received  one  letter  from  him,  and  that 
I  found  when  I  got  back,  a  few  days  after  Christmas. 
It  was  quite  characteristic,  and  read  as  follows: 

"Laramy  the  twenty-fitt  dec. 
FRF.NT  NIE. 

"When  you  get  this  Letter  i  will  Be  in  A  nuther 
tearritoiy  whare  the  weekid  seize  from  trubbling  &  the 
weery  air  at  Reast  excoose  my  Poor  writing  i  refer 
above  to  the  tearritory  of  Utaw  where  i  will  begin  Life 
A  new  &  all  will  be  fergott. 

"I  hop  god  wil  Reward  you  In  Caise  i  Shood  not  Be 
Abel  to  Do  so. 

"You  have  Bin  a  good  frent  off  me  and  so  I  am 
shure  you  will  enjoy  to  beer  of  my  success  i  hope  the 
slooth  hounds  of  Justiss  will  not  try  to  folly  me  for  it 


74 


THE  RISE  AND  FALL  OF  WILLIAM  JOHNSON 


will  be  worse  than  Useles  as  i  have  a  damsite  better 
team  than  i  had  Before. 

"It  is  the  Sheariff's  team  wich  i  have  got  &  his  name 
is  denis,  tel  the  Governor  to  Parden  me  if  i  have 
seeamed  Rude  i  shall  go  to  some  new  Plais  whare  i 
will  not  be  Looked  upon  with  Suchpishion  wishing 
you  a  mary  Crissmus  hapy  new  year  and  April  Fool  i 
will  Close  from  your  tru  Frent 

"BILL  JOHNSON." 


From  Delphi  to  Camden 


I. 

From  Delphi  to  Camden — little  Hoosier  towns, — 
But  here  were  classic  meadows,   blooming  dales  and 

downs 

And  here  were  grassy  pastures,  dewy  as  the  leas 
Trampled  over  by  the  trains  of  royal  pageantries. 
And  here  the  winding  highway  loitered  through   the 

shade 

Of  the  hazel-covert,  where,  in  ambuscade, 

75 


76  FROM    DELPHI    TO    CAMDEN 

Loomed  the  larch  and  linden,  and  the  green-wood  tree 
Under  which  bold  Robin  Hood  loud  hallooed  to  me! 

Here  the  stir  and  riot  of  the  busy  day, 
Dwindled  to  the  quiet  of  the  breath  of  May; 
Gurgling  brooks,  and  ridges  lily-marged,  and  spanned 
By  the  rustic  bridges  found  in  Wonderland! 

II. 

From  Delphi  to  Camden — from  Camden  back  again! — 
And  now  the  night  was  on  us,  and  the  lightning  and 

the  rain; 
And  still  the  way  was  wondrous  with  the  flash  of  hill 

and  plain, — 
The  stars  like  printed  asterisks — the  moon  a  murky 

stain! 

And  I  thought  of  tragic  idyl,  and  of  flight  and  hot 

pursuit, 
And  the  jingle  of  the  bridle,  and  cuirass,  and  spur  on 

boot, 
As  our  horses's  hooves  struck  showers  from  the  flinty 

bowlders  set 
In    freshet    ways   with    writhing   reed    and    drowning 

violet. 

And  we  passed  beleaguered  castles,  with  their  battle- 
ments a-frown; 

Where  a  tree  fell  in  the  forest  was  a  turret  toppled 
clown ; 

While  my  master  and  commander — the  brave  knight  I 
galloped  with 

On  this  reckless  road  to  ruin  or  to  fame,   was — Dr 
Smith ! 


OMETIMES  a  sad  homesick  feeling 
comes  over  me  when  I  compare  the 
prevailing  style  of  anecdote  and 
school  literature  with  the  old  Mc- 
Guffey  brand,  so  well  known  thirty 
3rears  ago.  To-day  our  juvenile 
literature,  it  seems  to  me,  is  so  trans- 
parent, so  easy  to  understand  that  I 
am  not  surprised  to  learn  that  the 
rising  generation  shows  signs  of  lawlessness. 

Boys  to-day  do  not  use  the  respectful  language  and 
large,  luxuriant  words  that  they  did  when  Mr.  McGuffey 
used  to  stand  around  and  report  their  conversations 
for  his  justly  celebrated  school  reader.  It  is  disagree- 
able to  think  of,  but  it  is  none  the  less  true,  and  for 
one  I  think  we  should  face  the  facts. 

I  ask  the  careful  student  of  school  literature  to  com- 
pare the  following  selection,  which  I  have  written 
myself  with  great  care,  and  arranged  with  special 
reference  to  the  matter  of  choice  and  difficult  words, 
with  the  flippant  and  commonplace  terms  used  in  the 
average  school  book  of  to-day. 

77 


78  THE    GRAMMATICAL    BOY 

One  day  as  George  Pillgarlic  was  going  to  his  tasks, 
and  while  passing  thorugh  the  wood,  he  spied  a  tall 
man  approaching  in  an  opposite  direction  along  the 
highway. 

"Ah!"  thought  George,  in  a  low,  mellow  tone  of 
voice,  "whom  have  we  here?" 

"Good  morning,  my  fine  fellow,"  exclaimed  the 
stranger,  pleasantly  "Do  you  icside  in  this  locality?" 

"Indeed  I  do,"  retorted  George,  cheerily,  doffing  his 
cap  "In  yonder  cottage,  near  the  glen,  my  widowed 
mother  and  her  thirteen  children  dwell  with  me." 

"And  is  your  father  dead?"  exclaimed  the  man,  with 
a  rising  inflection. 

"Extremely  so,"  murmured  the  lad,  "and,  oh,  sir, 
that  is  why  my  poor  mother  is  a  widow." 

"And  how  did  your  papa  die?"  asked  the  man,  as  he 
thoughtfully  stood  on  the  other  foot  awhile. 

"Alas!  sir,"  said  George,  as  a  large  hot  tear  stole 
down  his  pale  cheek,  and  fell  with  a  loud  report  on  the 
warty  siirface  of  his  bare  foot,  "he  was  lost  at  sea  in  a 
bitter  gale.  The  good  ship  foundered  two  years  ago 
last  Christmastide,  and  father  was  foundered  at  the 
same  time.  No  one  knew  of  the  loss  of  the  ship  and 
that  the  crew  was  drowned  until  the  next  spring,  and 
it  was  then  too  late." 

"And  what  is  your  age,  my  fine  fellow?"  quoth  the 
stranger. 

"If  I  live  till  next  October,"  said  the  boy,  in  a 
declamatory  tone  of  voice  suitable  for  a  Second  Reader. 
"I  will  be  seven  years  of  age." 

"And  who  provides  for  your  mother  and  her  large 
family  of  children?"  queried  the  man. 

"Indeed,    I  do,   sir,"    replied    George,   in   a    shrii 


THE    GRAMMATICAL    BOY  79 

tone.  "I  toil,  oh,  so  hard,  sir,  for  we  are  very,  very 
poor,  and  since  my  elder  sister,  Ann,  was  married  and 
brought  her  husband  home  to  live  with  us,  I  have  to 
toil  more  assiduously  than  heretofore." 

"And  by  what  means  do  you  obtain  a  livelihood?" 
exclaimed  the  man,  in  slowly  measured  and  gram- 
matical words. 

•'By  digging  wells,  kind  sir,"  replied  George,  pick- 
ing up  a  tired  ant  as  he  spoke  and  stroking  it  on  the 
back.  "I  have  a  good  education,  and  so  I  am  able  to 
dig  wells  as  well  as  a  man.  I  do  this  day-times  and 
take  in  washing  at  night.  In  this  way  I  am  enabled 
barely  to  maintain  our  family  in  a  precarious  manner; 
but,  oh,  sir,  should  my  other  sisters  marry,  I  fear  that 
some  of  my  brothers-in-law  would  have  to  suffer." 

"And  do  you  not  fear  the  deadly  fire-damp?"  asked 
the  stranger  in  an  earnest  tone. 

"Not  by  a  damp  sight,"  answered  George,  with  a  low 
gurgling  laugh,  for  he  was  a  great  wag. 

"You  are  indeed  a  brave  lad,"  exclaimed  the 
stranger,  as  he  repressed  a  smile.  "And  do  you  not 
at  times  become  very  wea^y  and  wish  for  other  ways 
of  passing  your  time?" 

"Indeed,  I  do,  sir,"  said  the  lad.  "I  would  fain  run 
and  romp  and  be  gay  like  other  boys,  but  I  must 
engage  in  constant  manual  exercise,  or  we  will  have 
no  bread  to  eat,  and  I  have  not  seen  a  pie  since  pap* 
perished  in  the  moist  and  moaning  sea." 

"And  what  if  I  were  to  tell  you  that  your  papa  die 
not  perish  at  sea,  but  was  saved  from  a  humid  grave?' 
asked  the  stranger  in  pleasing  tones. 

"Ah,  sir,"  exclaimed  George,  in  a  genteel  manner, 
again  Doffing  his  cat).  "I  am  too  polite  to  tell  you  what 


80  THE    GRAMMATICAL    BOY 

I  would  say,  and  beside,  sir,  you  are  much  larger 
than  I  am." 

"But,  my  brave  lad,"  said  the  man  in  low  musical 
tones,  "do  you  not  know  me,  Georgie?  Oh,  George!" 

"I  must  say,"  replied  George,  "that  you  have  the 
advantage  of  me.  Whilst  I  may  have  met  you  before, 
I  cannot  at  this  moment  place  you,  sir." 

"My  son!  oh,  my  son!"  murmured  the  man,  at  the 
same  time  taking  a  large  strawberry  mark  out  of  his 
valise  and  showing  it  to  the  lad.  "Do  you  not  recog- 
nize 37our  parent  on  your  father's  side?  When  our 
good  ship  went  to  the  bottom,  all  perished  save  me 
I  swam  several  miles  through  the  billows,  and  at  last 
utterly  exhausted,  gave  up  all  hope  of  life.  Suddenly 
I  stepped  on  something  hard.  It  was  the  United 
States. 

"And  now,  my  brave  boy,"  exclaimed  the  man  with 
great  glee,  "see  what  I  have  brought  for  you."  I 
was  but  the  work  of  a  moment  to  unclasp  from  a  shawl- 
strap  which  he  held  in  his  hand  and  present  to  George's 
astonished  gaze  a  large  4o-cent  water-melon,  which 
until  now  had  been  concealed  by  the  shawl-strap. 


The  Crankadox  leaned  o'er  the  edge  of  the  moon 

And  wistfully  gazed  on  the  sea 
Where  the  Gryxabodill  madly  whistled  a  tune 

To  the  air  of  Ti-fol-de-ding-dee. " 
The  quavering  shriek  of  the  Fliupthecreek 

Was  fitfully  wafted  afar 
To  the  Queen  of  the  Wunks  as  she  powdered  her  cheek 

With  the  pulverized  rays  of  a  star. 

The  Gool  closed  his  ear  on  the  voice  of  the  Grig, 

And  his  heart  it  grew  heavy  as  lead 
As  he  marked  the  Baldekin  adjusting  his  wig 

On  the  opposite  side  of  his  head; 
And  the  air  it  grew  chill  as  the  Gryxabodill 

Raised  his  dank,  dripping  fins  to  the  skies, 
To  plead  with  the  Plunk  for  the  use  of  her  bill 

To  pick  the  tears  out  of  his  eyes. 

The  ghost  of  the  Zhack  flitted  by  in  a  trance; 

And  the  Squid jum  hid  under  a  tub 
As  he  heard  the  loud  hooves  of  the  Hooken  advance 

With  a  rub-a-dub-dub-a-dub  dub! 
And  the  Crankadox  cried  as  he  laid  down  and  died, 

"My  fate  there  is  none  to  beTvail!" 
While  the  Queen  of  the  Wunks  drifted  over  the  tide 

With  a  long  piece  of  crape  to  her  tail. 

81 


The  Chemist  of  the  Carolinas 

ASHEVILLE,  N.  C.,  Dec.  13  — Last  week  I  went  out 
into  the  mountains  for  the  purpose  of  securing  a  holly 
tree  with  red  berries  on  it  for  Yuletide.  I  had  noticed 
in  all  my  pictures  of  Christmas  festivities  in  England 
that  the  holly,  with  cranberries  on  it,  constituted  the 
background  of  Yuletide.  A  Yuletide  in  England  with- 
out a  holly  bough  and  a  little  mistletoe  in  it  wouldn't 
be  worth  half  price.  Here  these  vegetables  grow  in 
great  confusion,  owing  to  the  equable  climate,  and  so 
the  holly  tree  is  within  the  reach  of  all. 

I  resolved  to  secure  one  personally,  so  I  sped  away 
into  the  mountains  where,  in  less  than  the  time  it 
takes  to  tell  it,  I  had  succeeded  in  finding  a  holly  tree 
and  losing  myself.  It  is  a  very  solemn  sensation  to 
feel  that  you  are  lost,  and  that  before  you  can  be  found 
something  is  liable  to  happen  to  the  universe. 

I  wandered  aimlessly  about  for  half  an  hour,  hoping 
that  I  would  be  missed  in  society  and  some  one  sent  in 
search  of  me.  I  was  just  about  to  give  up  in  despair 
and  sink  down  on  a  bed  of  moss  with  the  idea  oi 
shuffling  off  six  or  seven  feet  of  mortal  coil  when,  a 
few  rods  away,  I  saw  a  blue  smoke  issuing  from  the 
side  of  the  mountain  and  rising  toward  the  sky.  I 
went  rapidly  towards  it  and  found  it  to  be  a  plain  dug- 
out with  a  dirt  floor.  I  entered  and  cast  myself  upon 
a  rude  nail  keg,  allowing  my  feet  to  remain  suspended 

82 


THE  CHEMIST  OF  THE  CAROLINAS 


83 


at  the  lower  end  of  my  legs,  an  attitude  which  I  fre- 
quently affect  when  fatigued. 


The  place  was  net  occupied  at  the  time  I  entered, 
though  there  was  a  fire  and  things  looked  as  though 


84  THE  CHEMIST  OF  THE  CAROLINAS 

the  owner  had  not  been  long  absent.  It  seemed  to  be 
a  kind  of  laboratory,  for  I  could  see  here  and  there  the 
earmarks  of  the  chemist.  I  feared  at  first  that  it  was 
a  bomb  factory,  but  as  I  could  not  see  any  of  these 
implements  in  a  perfected  state  I  decided  that  it  was 
safe  and  waited  for  the  owner  to  arrive. 

After  a  time  I  heard  a  low  guttural  footstep  approach- 
ing up  the  hill.  I  went  to  the  door  and  exclaimed  to 
the  proprietor  as  he  came,  "Merry  Christmas,  Colonel. " 

"Merry  Christmas  be  d d!"  said  he  in  the  same 

bantering  tone.  "What  in  three  dashes,  two  hyphens 
and  an  astonisher  do  you  want  here,  you  double-dashed 
and  double-blanketed  blank  to  dash  and  return!!" 

The  wording  here  is  my  own,  but  it  gives  an  idea  of 
the  way  the  conversation  was  drifting.  You  can  see 
by  his  manner  that  literary  people  are  not  alone  in 
being  surly,  irritable  and  unreasonable. 

So  I  humored  him  and  spoke  kindly  to  him  and 
smoothed  down  his  ruffled  plumage  with  my  gay  badi- 
nage, for  he  wore  a  shawl  and  you  can  never  tell 
whether  a  man  wearing  a  shawl  is  armed  or  not.  I 
give  herewith  a  view  of  this  chemist  as  he  appeared 
on  the  morning  I  met  him. 

It  will  be  noticed  that  he  was  a  man  about  medium 
height  with  clear-cut  features  and  hair  and  retreating 
brisket.  His  hair  was  dark  and  hung  in  great  waves 
which  seemed  to  have  caught  the  sunlight  and 
retained  it  together  with  a  great  many  other  atmos- 
pheric phenomena.  He  wore  a  straw  hat,  such  as  I 
once  saw  Horace  Greeley  catch  grasshoppers  in,  on  the 
banks  of  the  Kinnickinnick,  just  before  he  caught  a 
small  trout. 

I  spent  some  time  with  him  watching  him  as  he 


THE  CHEMIST  OF  THE  CAROLINAS  85 

made  his  various  experiments.  Finally,  he  showed 
me  a  new  beverage  that  he  had  been  engaged  in  per- 
fecting. It  was  inclosed  in  a  dark  brown  stone 
receptacle  and  was  held  in  place  by  a  common  corn- 
cob stopper.  I  took  some  of  it  in  order  to  show  that  I 
confided  in  him.  I  do  not  remember  anything  else 
distinctly.  1  tie  fumes  of  this  drink  went  at  once 'to 
my  brain,  where  it  had  what  might  be  termed  a  com- 
plete walkover. 

1  now  have  no  hesitation  in  saying  that  the  fluid 
must  have  been  alcoholic  in  its  nature,  for  when  I 
regained  my  consciousness  I  was  extremely  elsewhere. 
I  found  myself  on  a  road  which  seemed  to  lead  in  two 
opposite  directions,  and  my  mind  was  very  much  con- 
fused. 

I  hardly  know  how  I  got  home,  but  I  finally  did  get 
there,  accompanied  by  a  strong  leaning  towards  Pro- 
hibition. A  few  days  ago  I  received  the  following 
letter : 

Sir : — I  at  first  thought  when  I  saw  you  at  my  lab- 
oratory the  other  day  that  you  was  a  low,  inquisitive 
cuss  and  so  I  spoke  to  you  in  har?e  tones  and 
reproached  you  and  upbraided  you  by  calling  you 
everything  I  could  lay  my  tongue  to,  but  since  tnen  I 
have  concluded  that  you  didn't  know  any  better. 

You  said  to  me  that  you  found  my  place  by  seeing 
the  smoke  coming  out  of  the  chimbley;  that  has  given 
me  an  idea  that  you  might  know  something  about 
what's  called  a  smoke  consumer  of  which  I  have  heard. 
I  am  doing  a  fair  business,  but  I  am  a  good  deal 
pestered,  as  you  might  say,  by  people  who  come  in  on 
me  when  I  do  not  want  to  mingle  in  society.  A  man  in 
the  chemist  business  cannot  succeed  if  he  is  all  the  time 


86  THE  CHEMIST  OF  THE  CAROLINAS 

interrupted  by  Tom,  Dick  and  Harry  coming  in  on  him 
when  he  is  in  the  middle  of  an  experiment. 

I  am  engaged  in  making  a  remedy  for  which  there  is 
a  great  demand,  but  its  manufacture  is  regarded  with 
suspicion  by  United  States  officials  who  want  to  be 
considered  zealous.  Rather  than  be  drawn  into  any 
difficulty  with  these  people,  I  have  always  courted 
retirement  and  avoided  the  busy  haunts  of  men.  Still 
some  strolling  idiot  or  other  will  occasionally  see  the 
smoke  from  my  little  home  and  drop  in  on  me. 

Could  you  find  out  about  this  smoke  consumer  and 
see  what  the  price  would  be  and  let  me  known  as  soon 
as  possible? 

If  you  could  do  so  I  can  be  of  great  service  to  you. 
Leave  the  letter  under  the  big  stone  where  you  found 
yourself  the  other  day  when  you  came  out  of  your 
trance.  I  call  it  a  trance  because  this  letter  might  fall 
into  the  hands  of  your  family.  If  you  will  find  out 
about  this  smoke  consumer  and  leave  the  information 
where  I  have  told  you  you  will  find  on  the  following 
day  a  large  jug  of  mountain  dew  in  the  same  place 
that  will  make  your  hair  grow  and  give  a  roseate  hue 
to  your  otherwise  gloomy  life. 

Do  not  try  to  come  here  again.  It  might  compro- 
mise me.  A  man  in  your  position  may  not  have  any- 
thing to  risk,  but  with  me  it  is  different.  My  unsullied 
reputation  is  all  I  have  to  bequeath  to  mychildien. 
If  you  come  often  there  will  not  be  enough  left  to  go 
around,  as  I  have  a  large  family. 

If  you  hear  of  anybody  that  wants  to  trade  a  good 
double-barrel  shotgun  for  a  small  portable  worm  and 
retort  that  is  too  small  for  my  business,  I  can  give  him 
a  good  trade  on  it  if  he  will  let  you  know.  This  is  a 


THE  CHEMIST  OF  THE  CAROLINA?  87 

good  machine  for  experimntal  purposes,  and  being  no 
larger  than  a  Babcock  fire-extinguisher  it  can  be 
readily  conveyed  to  a  place  of  safety  at  a  very  rapid 
rate. 

You  might  say  to  your  friends  that  we  shall  try  in 
the  future  as  we  have  in  the  past  to  keep  up  the 
standard  of  our  goods,  so  as  to  merit  a  continued 
patronage. 

Citizens  of  the  United  States,  or  those  who  have 
declared  their  intention  to  become  such,  will  always 
be  welcome  at  our  works,  provided  they  are  not  office- 
holders in  any  capacity.  We  have  no  use  for  those 
who  are  in  any  way  connected  with  the  public  teat. 

Dictated  letter.  I.   B.   MOONSHINE. 

I  hope  that  any  one  will  feel  perfectly  free  to  address 
me  in  relation  to  anything  referred  to  in  the  above 
letter.  All  communications  containing  "amittances 
will  be  regarded  as  strictly  confidential. 


HIS  CRAZY-BONE 
88 


His  Crazy-Bone 

The  man  that  struck  his  crazy-bone, 
All  suddenly  jerked  up  one  foot 
And  hopped  three  vivid  hops,  and  put 
His  elbow  straight  before  him — then 

Flashed  white  as  pallid  Parian  stone, 

And  clinched  his  eyes,  and  hopped  again. 

He  spake  no  word — he  made  no  moan — 
He  muttered  no  invective — but 
Just  gripped  his  eyelids  tighter  shut, 

And  as  the  world  whizzed  past  him  then, 

He  only  knew  his  crazy-bone 
Was  stricken — so — he  hopped  again. 


89 


Prying  Open  the  Future 

"Ring  the  bell  and  the  door  will  open,"  is  the 
remark  made  by  a  small  label  over  a  bell-handle  in 
Third  avenue,  near  Eighteenth  street,  where  Mme.  La 
Foy  reads  the  past,  present  and  future  at  so  much  per 
read.  Love,  marriage,  divorce,  illness,  speculation 


and  sickness  are  there  handled  with  the  utmost 
impunity  by  "Mme.  La  Foy,  the  famous  scientific 
astrologis;~, "  who  has  monkeyed  with  the  planets  for 
twenty  years,  and  if  she  wanted  any  information  has 
"read  it  in  the  stars." 

90 


PRYING    OPEN    THE    FUTURE  91 

I  rang  the  bell  the  other  day  to  see  if  the  door  would 
open.  It  did  so  after  considerable  delay,  and  a  pimply 
boy  in  knee  pants  showed  me  upstairs  into  the  waiting-- 
room. After  a  while  I  was  removed  to  the  consulta- 
tion-room, where  Mme.  La  Foy,  seated  behind  a  small 
oil-cloth  covered  table,  rakes  up  old  personalities  and 
pries  into  the  future  at  cut  rates. 

Skirmishing  about  among  the  planets  for  twenty 
years  involves  a  great  deal  of  fatigue  and  exposure,  to 
say  nothing  of  the  night  work,  and  so  Mine.  La  Fey 
has  the  air  of  one  who  has  put  in  a  very  busy  life. 
She  is  as  familiar  with  planets  though  as  you  or  I 
might  be  with  our  own  family,  and  calls  them  by  their 
first  names.  She  would  know  Jupiter,  Venus,  Saturn, 
Adonis  or  any  of  the  other  fixed  stars  the  darkest  night 
that  ever  blew. 

"Mme.  La  Foy  De  Gravv, "  said  I,  bowing  with  the 
easy  grace  of  a  gentleman  of  the  old  school,  "would 
you  mind  peering  into  the  future  for  me  about  a  half 
dollar's  worth,  not  necessarily  for  publication,  et 
cetera.  ' 

"Certainly  not.     What  would  you  like  to  know?" 

"Why,  I  want  to  know  all  I  can  for  the  money,"  I 
said  in  a  bantering  tone.  "Of  course  I  do  not  wish  to 
know  what  I  already  know.  It  is  what  I  do  not  know 
that  I  desire  to  know.  Tell  me  what  I  do  not  know, 
Madame.  I  will  detain  you  but  a  moment." 

She  gave  me  back  my  large,  round  half  dollar  and 
told  me  that  she  was  already  weary.  She  asked  me  to 
excuse  her.  She  was  willing  to  unveil  the  future  to 
me  in  her  poor,  weak  way,  but  she  could  not  guarantee 
to  let  a  large  flood  of  light  into  the  darkened  basement 
of  a  benighted  mind  for  half  a  dollar. 


92  PRYING    OPEN    THE    FUTURE 

"You  can  tell  me  what  year  and  on  what  day  of  the 
month  you  were  born,"  said  Mme.  La  Foy,  "and  I 
will  outline  your  life  to  you.  I  generally  require  a 
lock  of  the  hair,  but  in  your  case  we  will  dispense 
with  it." 

I  told  her  when  I  was  born  and  the  circumstances 
as  well  as  I  could  recall  them. 

"This  brings  you  under  Venus,  Mercury  and  Mars. 
These  three  planets  were  in  conjunction  at  the  time  of 
your  birth.  You  were  born  when  the  sign  was  wrong 
and  you  have  had  more  or  less  trouble  ever  since. 
Had  you  been  born  when  the  sign  was  in  the  head  or 
the  heart,  instead  of  the  feet,  you  would  not  have 
spread  out  over  the  ground  so  much. 

"Your  health  is  very  good,  as  is  the  health  of  those 
generally  who  are  born  under  the  same  auspices  that 
you  were.  People  who  are  born  under  the  reign  of 
the  crab  are  apt  to  be  cancerous.  You,  however,  have 
great  lung  power  and  wonderful  gastric  possibilities. 
Yet,  at  times,  you  would  be  easily  upset.  A  strong 
cyclone  that  would  unroof  a  court-house  or  tip  over  a 
through  train  would  also  upset  you,  in  spite  of  your 
broad,  firm  feet  if  the  wind  got  behind  one  of  your 
ears. 

"You  will  be  married  early,  and  you  will  be  very 
happy,  though  your  wife  will  not  enjoy  herself  very 
much.  Your  wife  will  be  much  happier  during  her 
second  marriage. 

"You  will  prosper  better  in  business  matteis  with- 
out forming  any  partnerships.  Do  not  go  into  partner- 
ship with  a  small,  dark  man  who  has  neuralgia  and  ;i 
fine  yacht.  He  has  abundant  means,  but  he  will  go 
through  you  like  an  electric  shock. 


PRYING    OPEN    THE    FUTURE  93 

"Tuesdays  and  Saturdays  will  be  your  most  fortu- 
nate days  on  which  to  borrow  money  of  men  with 
light  hair.  Mondays  and  Thursdays  will  be  your  best 
days  for  approaching  dark  men. 

"Look  out  for  a  low-sot  man  accompanied  by  an 
office  cat,  both  of  whom  are  engaged  in  the  newspaper 
business.  He  is  crafty  and  bald-headed  on  his  father's 
side.  He  prints  the  only  paper  that  contains  the  full 
text  of  his  speeches  at  testimonials  and  dinners  given 
to  other  people.  Do  not  loan  him  money  on  any 
account. 

"You  would  succeed  as  well  a  musician  or  an 
inventor,  but  you  would  not  do  well  as  a  poet.  You 
have  all  the  keen  sensibility  and  strong  passion  of  a 
poet,  but  you  haven't  the  hair.  Do  not  try  poesy. 

"In  the  future  I  see  you  very  prosperous.  You  are 
on  the  lecture  platform  speaking.  Large  crowds  of 
people  are  jostling  each  other  at  the  box-office  and  try- 
ing to  get  their  money  back. 

"Then  I  see  you  riding  behind  a  flexible  horse  that 
must  have  cost  a  large  sum  of  money.  You  are  smok- 
ing a  cigar  that  has  never  been  in  use  before.  Then 
Venus  bisects  the  orbit  of  Mars  and  I  see  you  going 
home  with  your  head  tied  up  in  the  lap  robe,  you  and 
your  spirited  horse  in  the  same  ambulance." 

"But  do  you  see  anything  for  me  in  the  future, 
Mme.  La  Foy?"  I  asked,  taking  my  feet  off  the  table, 
the  better  to  watch  her  features,  "anything  that  would 
seem  to  indicate  political  preferment,  a  reward  for  past 
services  to  my  country,  as  it  were?" 

"No,  not  clearly.  But  wait  a  moment.  Your  horo- 
scope begins  to  get  a  little  more  intelligent.  I  see 
you  at  the  door  of  the  Senate  Chamber.  You  are 


94  PRYING    OPEN    THE    FUTURE 

counting1  over  your  money  and  looking  sadly  at  a 
schedule  of  prices.  Then  you  turn  sorrowfully  away 
and  decide  to  buy  a  seat  in  the  House  instead.  Many 
/ears  after  I  see  you  in  the  Senate.  You  are  there 
day  after  day  attending  to  your  duties.  You  are  there 
early,  before  any  one  else,  and  I  see  you  pacing  back 
and  forth,  up  and  down  the  aisles,  sweeping  out  the 
Senate  Chamber  and  dusting  off  the  seats  and  rejuven- 
ating the  cuspidors." 

' '  Does  this  horoscope  which  you  are  using  this  season 
give  you  any  idea  as  to  whether  mone}r  matters  will 
be  scarce  with  me  next  Vv  jek  or  otherwise,  and  if  so 
what  I  had  better  do  about  it?" 

"Towards  the  last  of  the  week  you  will  experience 
considerable  monetary  prostration,  but  just  as  you 
have  become  despondent,  at  the  very  tail  end  of  the 
week,  the  horizon  will  clear  up  and  a  slight,  dark  gen- 
tleman, with  wide  trousers,  who  is  a  total  stranger  to 
you,  will  loan  you  quite  a  sum  of  money,  with  the 
understanding  that  it  is  to  be  repaid  on  Monday." 

"Then  you  would  not  advise  me  to  go  to  Coney 
Island  until  the  week  after  next?" 

"Certainly  not." 

"Would  it  be  etiquette  in  dancing  a  quadrille  to 
swing  a  young  person  of  the  opposite  sex  twice  round 
at  a  select  party  when  you  are  but  slightly  acquainted, 
but  feel  quite  confident  that  her  partner  is  un- 
armed?" 

"Yes." 

"Does  your  horoscope  tell  a  person  what  to  doswith 
raspberry  jelly  that  will  not  Jell?" 

"No,  not  at  the  present  prices." 

"So  you  predict  an  early  marriage,  with  threatening 


PRYING    OPEN    THE    FUTURE  99 

weather  and  strong  prevailing  easterly  winds  along 
the  Gulf  States?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"And  is  there  no  way  that  this  early  marriage  may 
be  evaded?" 

"No,  not  unless  you  put  it  off  till  later  in  life." 

"Thank  you,"  I  said,  rising  and  looking  out  the 
window  over  a  broad  sweep  of  undulating  alley  and 
wind-swept  roofing,  "and  now,  how  much  are  you  out 
on  this?" 

"Sir!" 

"What's  the  damage?" 

"Oh,  one  dollar." 

"But  don't  you  advertise  to  read  the  past,  present 
and  future  for  fifty  cents?" 

"Well,  that  is  where  a  person  has  had  other  infor- 
mation before  in  his  life  and  has  some  knowledge  to 
begin  with;  but  where  I  fill  up  a  vacant  mind  entirely 
and  store  it  with  facts  of  all  kinds  and  stock  it  up  so 
that  it  can  do  business  for  itself,  I  charge  a  dollar.  I 
cannot  thoroughly  refit  and  refurnish  a  mental  tene- 
ment from  the  ground  up  for  fifty  cents." 

I  do  not  think  we  have  as  good  "Astrologists"  now 
as  we  used  to  have.  Astrologists  cannot  ciawl  under 
the  tent  and  pry  into  the  future  as  they  could  three  or 
four  thousand  years  ago. 


Mr.  Silberberg 

I  like  me  yet  dot  leedle  chile 
Vich  climb  my  lap  up  in 

to-day, 
Unt  took  my  cheap  cigair 

avay, 
Unt  laugh  and  kiss  me  purty- 

whvile, — 
Possescially    I    liks    dose 

mout* 
Vich   taste   his  moder'3 

like — unt  so, 
OS  my  cigair  it  gone  glean 

out 

— Yust  let  it  got 
96 


MR.    SILBERBERG  97 

Vat  I  caire  den  for  anyding? 

Der  paper  schlip  out  fon  my  hand, 
And  all  my  odvairtizement  stand, 
Mitout  new  changements  boddering; 
I  only  dink — I  have  me  dis 

Von  leedle  boy  to  pet  tint  love 
Unt  play  me  vit,  unt  hug  unt  kiss — 
Unt  dot's  enough! 

Der  plans  unt  pairposes  I  vear 
Out  in  der  vorld  all  fades  avay; 
Unt  vit  der  beeznid  of  der  day 
I  got  me  den  no  time  to  spare ; 

Der  caires  of  trade  vas  caires  no  more — 
Dem  cash  accounds  dey  dodge  me  by,' 
Unt  vit  my  chile  I  roll  der  floor, 
Unt  laugh  unt  gry! 

Ah!  frient!  dem  childens  is  der  ones 
Dot  got  some  happy  times — you  bet! — 
Dot's  vy  ven  I  been  growed  up  yet 

I  vish  I  voulcl  been  leedle  vonce! 

t 

Unt  ven  dot  leetle  roozter  tries 

Dem  baby-tricks  I  used  to  do, 
My  mout  it  vater,  unt  my  eyes 

Dey  vater  too ! 

Unt  all  der  summertime  unt  spring 
Of  childhood  it  come  back  to  me, 
So  dot  it  vas  a  dream  I  see 

Ven  I  yust  look  at  anyding, 

Unt  ven  dot  leedle  boy  run  by, 

I  dink  "dot's  me,"  fon  hour  to  houi 


38  MR.    SILBERBERG 

Schtill  chasing-  yet  dose  butterfly 
Fon  flower  to  flower! 

Oxpose  I  vas  lots  money  vairt, 
Mit  blenty  schtone-front  schtore  to  rent 
Unt  mor'gages  at  twelf  per-cent, 
Unt  diamonds  in  my  ruffled  shairt, — 
I  make  a'signment  of  all  dot, 

Unt  tairn  it  over  mit  a  schmile, 
Obber  you  please — but  don'd  forgot 
I  keep  dot  chile! 


Spirits  at  Home 

(THE  FAMILY) 

There  was  Father,  and  Mother,  and  Emmy,  and  Jane 

And  Lou,  and  Ellen,  and  John  and  me — 
And  father  was  killed  in  the  war,  and  Lou 
She  died  of  consumption,  and  John  did  too, 
And  Emmy  she  went  with  the  pleurisy. 

(THE  SPIRITS) 

Father  believed  in  'em  all  his  life — 

But  Mother,  at  first,  she'd  shake  her  head- 
Till  after  the  battle  of  Champion  Hill, 
When  many  a  flag-  in  the  winder-sill 

Had  crape  mixed  in  with  the  white  and  red! 

I  used  to  doubt  'em  myself  till  then — 

But  me  and  Mother  was  satisfied 
When  Ellen  she  set,  and  Father  came 
And  rapped  "God  bless  you!"  and  Mother's  name, 

And  "The  flag's  up  here!"     And  we  just  all  cried! 

Used  to  come  often  after  that, 

And  talk  to  us — just  as  he  used  to  do, 
Pleasantest  kind!  And  once,  for  John, 
He  said  he  was  "lonesome  but  wouldn't  let  on — 

Fear  Mother  would  worry,  and  Emmy  and  Lou." 

99 


100  SPIRITS    AT    HOME 

But  Lou  was  the  bravest  girl  on  earth — 
For  all  she  never  was  hale  and  strong 
She'd  have  her  fun!     With  her  voice  clean  lost 
She'd  laugh  and  joke  us  that  when  she  crossed 
To  father,  we'd  all  come  taggin'  along. 

Died — just  that  way!     And  the  raps  was  thick 

That  night,  as  they  often  since  occur, 
Extry  loud.     And  when  Lou  got  back 
She  said  it  was  Father  and  her — and  "whack!" 
She  tuck  the  table — and  we  knowed  her! 

John  and  Emmy,  in  five  years  more, 

Both  had  went. — And  it  seemed  like  fate!— 

For  the  old  home  it  burnt  down, — but  Jane 

And  me  and  Ellen  we  built  again 

The  new  house,  here,  on  the  old  estate. 

And  a  happier  family  I  don't  know 

Of  anywheres — unless  its  them — 
Father,  with  all  his  love  for  Lou, 
And  her  there  with  him,  and  healthy,  too, 

And  laughin',  with  John  and  little  Em. 

And,  first  we  moved  in  the  new  house  here, 
They  all  dropped  in  for  a  long  pow-wow. 
"We  like  your  buildin',  of  course,"  Lou  said, — 
But  wouldn't  swop  with  you  to  save  your  head — 
For  we  live  in  the  ghost  of  the  old  house,  now!" 


In  an  interview  which  I 
have  just  had  with  myself,  I 
have  positively  stated,  and 
now  repeat,  that  at  neither 
the  St.  Louis  nor  Chicago 
Convention  will  my  name  be 
presented  as  a  candidate. 
But  my  health  is  bully. 
We  are  upon  the  threshold 
of  a  most  bitter  and  acrimo- 
nious fight.  Great  wisdom 
and  foresight  are  needed  at 
this  hour,  and  the  true  pa- 
triot will  forget  himself  and 
his  own  interests  in  his  great 
yearning  for  the  good  of  his  common  country  and  the 
success  of  his  party.  What  we  need  at  this  time  is  a 
leader  whose  name  will  not  be  presented  at  the  con- 
vention but  whose  health  is  good. 

No  one  has  a  fuller  or  better  conception  of  the  great 
duties  of  the  hour  than  I  How  clearly  to  my  mind 
are  the  duties  of  the  American  citizen  outlined  to-day! 

101 


102         HEALTHY,  BUT  OUT  OF  THE  RACE 

I  have  never  seen  with  clearer,  keener  vision  the  great 
needs  of  my  country,  and  my  pores  have  never  been 
more  open.  Four  years  ago  I  was  in  some  doubt  relative 
to  certain  important  questions  which  now  are  clearly 
and  satisfactorily  settled  in  my  mind.  I  hesitated 
then  where  now  I  am  fully  established,  and  my  tongue 
was  coated  in  the  morning  when  1  arose,  whereas  now 
I  bound  lightly  from  bed,  kick  out  a  window,  climb  to 
the  roof  by  means  of  the  fire-escape  and  there  rehearse 
speeches  which  I  will  make  this  fall  in  case  it  should 
be  discovered  at  either  of  the  conventions  that  my 
name  alone  can  heal  the  rupture  in  the  party  and  pre- 
vent its  works  from  falling  out. 

I  think  my  voice  is  better  also  that  it  was  either 
four,  eight,  twelve  or  sixteen  years  ago,  and  it  does 
not  tire  me  so  much  to  think  of  things  to  say  from  the 
tail-gate  of  a  train  as  it  did  when  I  first  began  to 
refrain  from  presenting  my  name  to  conventions. 

According  to  my  notion,  our  candidate  should  be  a 
plain  man,  a  magnetic  but  hairless  patriot,  who  should 
be  suddenly  thought  of  by  a  majority  of  the  conven- 
tion and  nominated  by  acclamation.  He  should  not  be 
a  hide-bound  politician,  but  on  the  contrary  he  should 
be  greatly  startled,  while  down  cellar  sprouting 
potatoes,  to  learn  that  he  has  been  nominated. 
That's  the  kind  of  man  who  always  surprises  every- 
body with  his  sagacity  when  an  emergency  arises. 

In  going  down  my  cellar  stairs  the  committee  will 
do  well  to  avoid  stepping  on  a  large  and  venomous  dog 
who  sleeps  on  the  top  stair.  Or  I  will  tie  him  in  the 
barn  if  I  can  be  informed  when  I  am  liable  to  be 
startled. 

I  have  always  thought  that  the  neatest  method  of 


HEALTHY,  BUT  OUT  OF  THE  RACE 


103 


•calling  a  man  to  public  life  was  the  one  adopted  some 
years  since  in  the  case  of  Cincinnatus.  He  was  one 
day  breaking  a  pair  of  nervous  red  steers  in  the  north 
field.  It  was  a  hot  day  in  July,  and  he  was  trying  to 
summer  fallow  a  piece  of  ground  where  the  jimson 
weeds  grew  seven  feet  high.  The  plough  would  not 
scour,  and  the  steers  had  turned  the  yoke  twice  on 
him.  Cincinnatus  had  hung  his  toga  on  a  tamarac 
pole  to  strike  a  furrow  by,  and  hadn't  succeeded  in 


getting  the  plough  in  more  than  twice  in  going  across. 
Dressing  as  he  did  in  the  Roman  costume  of  458  B. 
C.,  the  blackberry  vines  had  scratched  his  massive 
legs  till  they  were  a  sight  to  behold.  He  had  scourged 
Old  Bright  and  twi-ted  the  tail  of  Bolly  till  he  was 
sick  at  heai  t.  All  through  the  long  afternoon,  wear- 
ing a  hot,  rusty  helmet  with  rabbit-skin  ear  tabs  he 
li'i.l  toiled  on,  when  suddenly  a  majority  of  the  Roman 
voters  climbed  over  the  fence  and  asked  him  to  become 
dictator  in  place  of  Spurious  Melius. 


104 


HEALTHY,  BUT  OUT  OF  THE  RACE 


Putting  on  his  toga  and  buckling  an  old  hame  strap 
around  his  loins  he  said:  "Gentlemen,  if  you  will  wait 
till  I  go  to  the  house  and  get  some  vaseline  on  my 
limbs  I  will  do  your  dictating  for  you  as  low  as  you 


have  ever  had  it  done."     He  then  left  his  team  stand- 
ing in   the  furrow  while  he  served  his  country  in  an 
official   capacity   for  a   little  over   twenty-nine  years, 
after  which  he  went  back  and  resumed  his  farming. 
Though  2,300  years  have  since  passed  away  and  his- 


HEALTHY.  BUT  OUT  OF  THE  RACE          105 

^torians  have  been  busy  with  that  epoch  ever  since,  no 
one  has  yet  discovered  the  methods  by  which  Cincin- 
natus  organized  and  executed  this,  the  must  successful 
"People's  Movement"  of  which  we  are  informed. 

The  great  trouble  with  the  modern  boom  is  that  it  is 
too  precocious.  It  knows  more  before  it  gets  its 
clothes  on  than  the  nurse,  the  physician  and  its  par- 
ents. It  then  dies  before  the  sap  starts  in  the  maple 
forests. 

My  object  in  writing  this  letter  is  largely  to  tone 
down  and  keep  in  check  any  popular  movement  in  my 
behalf  until  the  weather  in  more  settled.  A  season- 
cracked  boom  is  a  thing  I  despise. 

I  inclose  my  picture,  however,  which  shows  that  I 
am  so  healthy  that  it  keeps  me  awake  nights.  I  go 
about  the  house  singing  all  the  time  and  playing 
pranks  on  my  grandparents.  My  eye  dances  with  ill- 
concealed  merriment,  and  my  conversation  is  just  as 
sparkling  as  it  can  be. 

I  believe  that  during  this  campaign  we  should  lay 
aside  politics  so  far  as  possible  and  unite  on  an 
unknown,  homely,  but  sparkling  man.  Let  us  lay 
aside  all  race  prejudices  and  old  party  feeling  and 
elect  a  magnetic  chump  who  does  not  look  so  very 
well,  but  who  feels  first  rate. 

Towards  the  middle  of  June  I  shall  go  away  to  an 
obscure  place  where  I  cannot  be  reached.  My  mail 
will  be  forwarded  to  me  by  a  gentleman  who  knows 
how  I  feel  in  relation  to  the  wants  and  needs  of  the 
country. 

To  those  who  have  prospered  during  the  past  twenty 
years  let  me  say  they  owe  it  to  the  perpetuation  of  the 
principles  and  institutions  towards  the  establishment 


106          HEALTHY,  BUT  OUT  OF  THE  RACE 

and  maintenance  of  which  I  have  given  the  best  ener- 
gies of  my  lit  _\  To  those  who  have  been  unfortunate 
let  me  say  frankly  that  they  owe  it  to  themselves. 

I  have  never  had  less  malaria  or  despondency  in  my 
system  that  I  have  this  spring.  My  cheeks  have  a 
delicate  bloom  on  them  like  a  russet  apple,  and  my 
step  is  light  and  elastic.  In  the  morning  I  arise  from 
my  couch  and,  touching  a  concealed  spring,  it  becomes 
an  upright  piano.  I  then  bathe  in  a  low  divan  which 
contains  a  jointed  tank  I  then  sing  until  interfered 
with  by  property  owners  and  tax-payers  who  reside 
near  by.  After  a  light  breakfast  of  calf's  liver  and 
custard  pie  I  go  into  the  reception-room  and  wait  for 
people  to  come  and  feel  my  pulse.  In  the  afternoon  I 
lie  down  on  a  lounge  for  two  or  three  hours,  wondering 
in  what  way  I  can  endear  myself  to  the  laboring  man. 
I  then  dine  heartily  at  my  club.  In  the  evening  I  go 
to  see  the  amateurs  play  "Pygmalion  and  Galatea. s> 
As  I  remain  till  the  play  is  over,  any  one  can  see  that 
I  am  a  very  robust  man.  After  I  get  home  I  write 
two  or  three  thousand  words  in  my  diary.  I  then 
insert  myself  into  the  bosom  of  my  piano  and  sleep, 
having  first  removed  my  clothes  and  ironed  my  trous- 
ers for  future  reference. 

In  closing,  let  me  urge  one  and  all  to  renewed  effort. 
The  prospects  for  a  speedy  and  unqualified  victory  at 
the  polls  were  never  more  roseate.  Let  us  select  a 
man  upon  whom  we  can  all  unite,  a  man  who  has  no 
venom  in  him,  a  man  who  has  successfully  defied  and 
trampled  on  the  infamous  Interstate  Commerce  act,  a 
man  who,  though  in  the  full  flush  and  pride  and  bloom 
and  fluff  of  life's  meridian,  still  disdains  to  present  his 
name  to  the  convention. 


Lines 


ON    HEARING  A  COW    BAWL,   IN  A  DEEP    FIT    OF    DEJECTION, 
ON  THE  EVENING  OF  JULY  3,    A.  D.    l8 


Portentous  sound!    mysteri- 
ously vast 
And  awful  in  the  grandeur 

of  refrain 
That  lifts  the  listener's  hair, 

•as  it  swells  past, 
And  pours  in  turbid  cur- 
rents down  the  lane. 


The  small  boy  at  the 
woodpile,  in  a 
dream 


Slow  trails  the  meat-rind  o'er  the  listless  saw; 
The  chickens  roosting  o'er  him  on  the  beam 

Uplifted  their  drowsy  heads   with  cootered  awe. 
107 


108  LINES 

The  "Gung-oigh"  of  the  pump  is  strangely  stilled; 

The  smoke-house  door  bangs  once  emphatic'ly, 
Then  bangs  no  more,  but  leaves  the  silence  filled 

With  one  lorn  plaint's  despotic  minstrelsy. 

Yet  I  would  join  thy  sorrowing  madrigal, 
Most  melancholy  cow,  and  sing  of  thee 

Full-hearted  thiough  my  tears,  for,  after  all 
'Tis  very  kine  of  you  to  sing  for  me. 


Me  and  Mary 

All  my  feelin's,  in  the  spring 

Gits  so  blame  contrary 
I  can't  think  of  anything 

Only  me  and  Mary ! 
"Me  and  Mary!"  all  the  time, 
"Me  and  Mary!"  like  a  rhyme 
Keeps  a-dinging  on  till  I'm 
Sick  o'  "Me  and  Mary!" 

"Me  and  Mary!     Ef  us  two 

Only  was  together — 
Playin1  like  we  used  to  do 

In  the  Aprile  weather!" 
All  the  night  and  all  the  day 
I  keep  wishin'  thataway 
Till  I'm  git  tin'  old  and  gray 

Jist  on  "Me  and  Mary!" 

Muddy  yit  along  the  pike 
Sense  the  winter's  freezin' 

And  the  orchard's  backard-like 
Bloomin'  out  this  season; 

Only  heerd  one  bluebird  yit — 

Nary  robin  er  tomtit ; 

What's  the  how  and  why  of  it? 
S'pect  its  "Me  and  Mary!" 
109 


110  ME    AND    MARY 

Me  and  Mary  liked  the  birds — 

That  is,  Mary  sorto' 
Liked  them  first,  and  afterwerds 

W'y  I  thought  I  01  to. 
And  them  birds — ef  Mary  stood 
Right  here  with  me  as  she  should — 
They'd  be  singin',  them  birds  would 

All  f er  me  and  Mary ! 

Birds  er  not,  I'm  hopin'  some 

I  kin  git  to  plowin' : 
Ef  the  sun'll  only  come, 

And  the  Lord  allowin', 
Guess  to-morry  I'll  turn  in 
And  git  down  to  work  agin : 
This  here  loaferin'  won't  win; 

Not  fer  me  and  Mary! 

Fer  a  man  that  loves,  like  me, 

And's  afeard  to  name  it, 
Till  some  other  feller,  he 

Gits  the  girl — dad-shame-it! 
Wet  er  dry,  er  clouds  er  sun- 
Winter  gone,  er  jist  begun — 
Out-door  work  few  me  er  none. 
No  more  "Me  and  Mary!" 


Niagara  Falls   from  the  Nye  Side 

ON  BOARD  THE  BOUNDING  TRAIN,  ) 
LONGITUDE  600  MILES  WEST  OF  A  GIVEN  POINT,  j" 

I  visited  Walton,  N.  Y.,  last  week,  a  beautiful  town 
in  the  flank  of  the  Catskills,  at  the  head  of  the  Dela- 
ware. It  was  there  in  that  quiet  and  picturesque  val- 
ley that  the  great  philanthropist  and  ameliator,  Jay 
Gould,  first  attracted  attention.  He  has  a  number  of 
relatives  there  who  note  with  pleasure  the  fact  that 
Mr.  Gould  is  not  frittering  away  his  means  during  his 
lifetime. 

In  the  office  of  Mr.  Nish,  of  Walton,  there  is  a  map 
of  the  county  made  by  Jay  Gould  while  in  the  survey- 
ing business,  and  several  years  before  he  became  a 
monarch  of  all  he  surveyed. 

Mr.  Gould  also  laid  out  the  town  of  Walton.  Since 
that  he  has  laid  out  other  towns,  but  in  a  different 
way.  He  also  plotted  other  towns.  Plotted  to  lay 
them  out,  I  mean. 

In  Franklin  there  is  an  old  wheelbarrow  which  Mr. 
Gould  used  on  his  early  surveying  trips.  In  this  he 
carried  his  surveying  instruments,  his  night  shirt  and 
manicure  set.  Connected  with  the  wheel  there  is  an 
arrangement  by  which,  at  night,  the  young  surveyor 
could  tell  at  a  glance,  with  the  aid  of  a  piece  of  red 
chalk  and  a  barn  door,  just  how  far  he  had  traveled 
during  the  day. 

Ill 


112  NIAGARA   FALLS  FROM  THE  NYE  SIDE 

This  instrument  was  no  doubt  the  father  of  the 
pedometer  and  the  cyclorama,  just  as  the  boy  is  fre- 
quently father  to  the  man.  It  was  also  no  doubt  the 
avant  courier  of  the  Dutch  clock  now  used  on  freight 
cabooses,  which  not  only  shows  how  far  the  car  has 
traveled,  but  also  the  rate  of  speed  for  each  mile,  the 
average  rainfall  and  whether  the  conductor  has  eaten 
onions  during  the  day. 

This  instrument  has  worked  quite  a  change  in  rail- 
roading since  my  time.  Years  ago  I  can  remember 
when  I  used  to  ride  in  a  caboose  and  enjoy  myself,  and 
before  good  fortune  had  made  me  the  target  of  the 
alert  and  swift-flying  whisk-broom  of  the  palace  car,  it 
was  my  chief  joy  to  catch  a  freight  over  the  hill  from 
Cheyenne,  on  the  Mountain  division.  We  were  not 
due  anywhere  until  the  following  day,  and  so  at  the 
top  of  the  mountain  we  would  cut  off  the  caboose  and 
let  the  train  go  on.  We  would  then  go  into  the  glo- 
rious hills  and  gather  sage-hens  and  cotton-tails.  In 
the  summer  we  would  put  in  the  afternoon  catching 
trout  in  Dale  Creek  or  gathering  maiden-hair  ferns  in 
the  bosky  dells.  Bosky  dells  were  more  plenty  there 
at  that  time  than  they  are  now. 

It  was  a  delightful  sensation  to  know  that  we  could 
loll  about  in  the  glorious  weather,  secure  a  small 
string  of  stark,  varnished  trout  with  chapped  backs, 
hanging  aimlessly  by  one  gill  to  a  gory  willow  stringer, 
ani-then  beat  our  train  home  by  two  hours  by  letting 
off  the  brakes  and  riding  twenty  miles  in  fifteen 
minutes. 

But  Mr.  Gould  saw  that  we  were  enjoying  ourselves, 
and  so  he  sat  up  nights  to  oppress  us.  The  result  is 
that  the  freight  conductor  has  very  little  more  fun  now 


NIAGARA  FALLS  FROM  THE  NYE  SIDE 


113 


®*fe^ 


than  Mr.  Gould  himself.  All  the  enjoyment  that  the 
conductor  of  "Second  Seven"  has  now  is  to  pull  up  his 
train  where  it  will  keep  the  passengers  of  No.  5  going 
west  from  getting  a  view  of  the  town.  He  can  also,  if 
he  be  on  a  night  run,  get  under  the  window  of  a 
sleeping-car  at  about  1:35  a-  m->  an^  make  a  few 

desultory  remarks 
about  the  delinquen- 
cy of  "Third  Six" 
and.  the  lassitude  of 
Skinny  Bates  who  is 
supposed  to  brake 
ahead  on  No.  n  go- 
ing west.  That  is  all 
the  fun  he  has  now. 
I  saw  Niagara 
Falls  on  Thursday 
for  the  first  time. 
The  sight  is  one  long 
to  be  remembered. 
I  did  not  go  to  the 
falls,  but  viewed 
them  from  the  car 
window  in  all  their 
might,  majesty,  power  and  dominion  forever.  N.  B. — 
Dominion  of  Canada. 

Niagara  Falls  plunges  from  a  huge  elevation  by 
reason  of  its  inability  to  remain  on  the  sharp  edge  of  a 
precipice  several  feet  higher  than  the  point  to  which 
the  falls  are  now  falling.  This  causes  a  noise  to  make 
its  appearance,  and  a  thick  mist,  composed  of  minute 
particles  of  wetness,  rises  to  its  full  height  and  comes 
down  again  afterwards.  Words  are  inadequate  to 


114  NIAGARA  FALLS  FROM  THE  NYE  SIDE 

show  here,  even  with  the  aid  of  a  large,  powerful  new 
press,  the  grandeur,  what  you  may  call  the  vertigo, 
of  Niagara.  Everybody  from  all  over  the  world  goes 
to  see  and  listen  to  the  remarks  of  this  great  fall. 
How  convenient  and  pleasant  it  is  to  be  a  cataract  like 
that  and  have  people  come  in  great  crowds  to  see  and 
hear  you!  How  much  better  that  is  than  to  be  a  lec- 
turer, for  instance,  and  have  to  follow  people  to  their 
homes  in  order  to  attract  their  attention! 

Many  people  in  the  United  States  and  Canada  who 
were  once  as  pure  as  the  beautiful  snow,  have  fallen, 
but  they  did  not  attract  the  attention  that  the  fall  of 
Niagara  does. 

For  the  benefit  of  those  who  may  never  have  been 
able  to  witness  Niagara  Falls  in  winter  I  give  here  a 
rough  sketch  of  the  magnificent  spectacle  as  I  saw  it 
from  the  American  side.  From  the  Canadian  side  the 
aspect  of  the  falls  is  different,  and  the  names  on  the 
cars  are  not  the  same,  but  the  effect  on  one  of  a  sensi- 
tive nature  is  one  of  intense  awe.  I  know  that  I  can- 
not put  so  much  of  this  awe  into  a  hurried  sketch  as  I 
would  like  to.  In  a  crude  drawing,  made  while  the 
train  was  in  motion,  and  at  a  time  when  the  customs 
officer  was  showing  the  other  passengers  what  I  had 
in  my  valise,  of  course  I  could  not  make  a  picture  with 
much  sublimity  in  it,  but  I  tried  to  make  it  as  true  to 
nature  as  I  could. 

The  officer  said  that  I  had  nothing  in  my  luggage 
that  was  liable  to  duty,  but  stated  that  I  would  need 
heavier  underwear  in  Canada  than  the  samples  I  had 
with  me. 

Toronto  is  a  stirring  city  of  150,000  people,  who  are 


NIAGARA   FALLS  FROM  THE  NYE  SIDE 


115 


justly  proud  of  her  great  prosperity.     I  only  regretted 
that  I  could  not  stay  there  a  long  time. 

I  met  a  man  in  Cleveland,   O. ,   whose  name  was 
Macdonald.     He  was  at  the  Weddell  House,  and  talked 


freely  with  me  aboiit  our  country,  asking  me  a  great 
many  questions  about  myself  and  where  I  lived  and 
how  I  was  prospering'.  While  we  were  talking  at  one 
time  he  saw  something  in  the  paper  which  interested 


116  NIAGARA   FALLS  FROM  THE  NYE  SIDE 

him  and  called  him  away.  After  he  had  gone  I 
noticed  the  paragraph  he  had  been  reading,  and  saw 
that  it  spoke  of  a  man  named  Macdonald  who  had 
recently  arrived  in  town  from  New  York,  and  who  was 
introducing  a  new  line  of  green  goods. 

I  have  often  wondered  what  there  is  about  my  gen- 
eral appearance  which  seemed  to  draw  about  me  a 
cluster  of  green-goods  men  wherever  I  go.  Is  it  the 
odor  of  new-mown  hay,  or  the  frank,  open  way  in 
which  I  seem  to  measure  the  height  of  the  loftiest 
buildings  with  my  eye  as  I  penetrate  the  busy  haunts 
of  men  and  throng  the  crowded  marts  of  trade?  Or 
do  strangers  suspect  me  of  being  a  man  of  means? 

In  Cleveland  I  was  rather  indisposed,  owing  to  the 
fact  that  I  had  been  sitting  up  until  2  or  3  o'clock 
a.  m.  for  several  nights  in  order  to  miss  early  trains. 
I  went  to  a  physician,  who  said  I  was  suffering  from 
some  new  and  attractive  disease,  which  he  could  cope 
with  in  a  day  or  two.  1  told  him  to  cope.  He  pre- 
scribed a  large  42-calibre  capsule  which  he  said  con- 
tained medical  properties.  It  might  have  contained 
theatrical  properties  and  still  had  toom  left  for  a  baby 
grand  piano.  I  do  not  know  why  the  capsule  should 
be  so  popular.  I  would  rather  swallow  a  porcelain 
egg  or  a  live  turtle.  Doctors  claim  that  it  is  to  pre- 
vent the  bad  taste  of  the  medicines,  but  I  have  never 
yet  participated  in  any  medicine  which  was  more  dis- 
agreeable than  the  gluey  shell  of  an  adult  capsule, 
which  looks  like  an  overgrown  bott  and  tastes  like  a 
rancid  nightmare. 

I  doubt  the  good  taste  of  any  one  who  will  turn  up 
his  nose  at  castor-oil  or  quinine  and  yet  meekly  swal- 
low a  chrysalis  with  varnish  on  the  outside. 


NIAGARA   FALLS  FROM  THE  NYE  SIDE  117 

E  'eiy  where  I  go  I  find  people  who  seem  pleased 
witl.  th  ^  manner  in  which  I  have  succeeded  in  resem- 
bling the  graphic  pictures  made  to  represent  me  in 
The  World.  I  can  truly  say  that  I  am  not  a  vain  man, 
but  it  is  certainly  pleasing  and  gratifying  to  be  gi  eeted 
by  a  glance  of  recognition  and  a  yell  of  genuine 
delight  from  total  strangers.  Many  have  seemed  to 
suppose  that  the  massive  and  undraped  head  shown  in 
these  pictures  was  the  result  of  artistic  license  or 
indolence  and  a  general  desire  to  evade  the  task  of 
making  hair.  For  such  people  the  thrill  of  joy  they 
feel  when  they  discover  that  they  have  not  been 
deceived  is  marked  and  genuine. 

These  pictures  also  stimulate  the  press  of  the  country 
to  try  it  themselves  and  to  add  other  horrors  which  do 
not  in  any  way  intei  fere  with  the  likeness,  but  at  the 
same  time  encourage  me  to  travel  mostly  by  night 


'Curly  Locks! 


"Curly  Locks!    Curly  Locks!  u'ilt  thou  be  mine? 
Thou  shall  not  wash  the  dishes,  nor  yet  feed  the  swine 
But  sit  on  a  cusliion  and  seiv  a  fine  scam, 
And  feast  upon  strawberries,  sugar  and  erf  am." 

Curly  Locks!  Curly  Locks!  wilt  thou  be  mine? 
The  throb  of  my  heart  is  in  every  line, 
And  the  pulse  of  a  passion,  as  airy  and  glad 
In  its  musical  beat  as  the  little  Prince  had! 

118 


"CURLY  LOCKS"  119 

Thou  shalt  not   wash  the  dishes,  nor  yet   feed  the 


swine 


O,  I'll  dapple  thy  hands  with  these  kisses  of  mine 
Till  the  pink  of  the  nail  of  each  finger  shall  be 
As  a  little  pet  blush  in  full  blossom  for  me. 

Mnt  sit  on  a  cushion  and  sew  a  fine  seam, 
And  thou  shalt  have  fabric  as  fair  as  a  dream, — 
'['lie  red  of  my  veins,  and  the  white  of  my  love, 
And  the  gold  of  my  joy  for  the  braiding  thereof. 

And  feast  upon  strawberries,  sugar  and  cream 
Fiom  a  service  of  silver,  with  jewels  agleam, — 
At  thy  feet  will  I  bide,  at  thy  beck  will  I  rise, 
And  twinkle  my  soul  in  the  night  of  thine  eyes! 

"Curly  Locks!   Curly  Locks!  wilt  thou  be  mine? 
Tltou  sJialt  not  ivasJi  tlie  dishes,  nor  yet  feed  the  swine-. 
But  sit  on  a  cusliion  and  sew  a  fine  seam, 
And  feast  upon  strazvberrifs,  sugar  and  cream." 


Lines  on  Turning  Over  a  Pass 


OME  news- 
paper men 
claim  that 
they  feel  a 
great  deal 
freer  if  they 
pay  their 
fare. 

That  is 
true,  no 
doubt;  but 
too  much 

If  r  e  e  d  o  m 
does  not 
agree  with 
me.  It 
makes  me 
lawless.  I 

sometimes  think  that  a  little  wholesome  restriction  is 
the  best  thing  in  the  world  for  me.  That  is  the  reason 
I  never  murmur  at  the  conditions  on  the  back  of  an 
annual  pass.  Of  course  they  restrict  me  from  bring- 
ing suit  against  the  road  in  case  of  death,  but  I  don't 
mind  that.  In  case  of  my  death  it  is  my  intention  to 
lay  aside  the  cares  and  details  of  business  and  try  to 

120 


LINES  ON  TURNING  OVER  A  PASS  121 

secure  a  change  of  scene  and  complete  rest.  People  who 
think  that  after  my  demise  I  shall  have  nothing  better 
to  do  than  hang  around  the  musty,  tobacco-spattered 
corridors  of  a  court-room  and  wait  for  a  verdict  of 
damages  against  a  courteous  railroad  company  do  not 
thoroughly  understand  my  true  nature. 

But  the  interstate-commerce  bill  does  not  shut  out 
the  employe!  Acting  upon  this  slight  suggestion  of 
hope.  I  wrote,  a  short  time  ago,  to  Mr.  St.  John,  the 
genial  and  whole-souled  general  passenger  agent  of 
the  Chicago,  Rock  Island  &  Pacific  Railroad,  as  fol- 
lows: 

ASHEVILLE,  N.  C.,  Feb.  10,  1887. 
E.  St.  John,  G.  P.  A.,  C.,  R.  I.  &  P.  R'y,  Chicago. 

Dear  Sir: — Do  you  not  desire  an  employe  on  your 
charming  road?  I  do  not  know  what  it  is  to  be  an 
employe,  for  I  was  never  in  that  condition,  but  I  pant 
to  be  one  now. 

Of  course  I  am  ignorant  of  the  duties  of  an  employe, 
but  I  have  always  been  a  warm  ftiend  of  your  road  and 
rejoiced  in  its  success.  How  are  your  folks? 

Yours  truly, 

COL.  BILL  NYE. 

Day  before  yesterday  I  received  the  following  note 
from  General  St.  John,  printed  on  a  .purple  type- 
writer : 

CHICAGO,  Feb.  13,  1887. 
Col    Bill  Nye,  Asheville,  N.  C. 

Sir : — My  folks  are  quite  well.      Yours  truly, 

K.  ST.  JOHN. 

I  also  wrote  to  Gen.  A.  Y.  H.  Carpenter,  of  the  Mil- 
waukee road,  at  the  same  time,  for  we  had  corre- 


122  LINES  ON  TURNING  OVER  A  PASS 

sponded  some  back  and  forth  in  the  happy  past.     I 
wrote  in  about  the  following  terms: 

ASHEVILLE,  N.  C.,  Feb.  10,  1887. 

A.   V.    H.   Carpenter,  G.   P.   A.   C.,  M.  &  St.   P.  R'y, 
Milwaukee,  Wis. 

Dear  Sir: — How  are  you  fixed  for  employes  this 
spring? 

I  feel  like  doing  something  of  that  kind  and  could 
give  you  some  good  endorsements  from  prominent 
people  both  at  home  and  abroad. 

What  does  an  employe  have  to  do? 

If  I  can  help  your  justly  celebrated  road  any  here  in 
the  South  do  not  hesitate  about  mentioning  it. 

I  am  still  quite  lame  in  my  left  leg,  which  was 
broken  in  the  cyclone,  and  cannot  walk  without  great 
pain.  Yours  with  kindest  regards, 

BILL  NYE. 

I  have  just  received  the  following  reply  from  Mr. 
Carpenter: 

MILWAUKEE,  Wis.,  Feb.  14,  1887. 
Bill  Nye,  Esq.,  Asheville,  N.  C. 

Dear  Sir: — You  are  too  late.  As  I  write  this  letter, 
there  is  a  string  of  men  extending  from  my  office  door 
clear  down  to  the  Soldiers'  Home.  All  of  them  want 
to  be  employes.  This  crowd  embraces  the  Senate  and 
House  of  Representatives  of  the  Wisconsin  Legis- 
lature, State  officials,  judges,  journalists,  jurors,  justices 
of  the  peace,  orphans,  overseers  of  highways,  fish  com- 
missioners, pugilists,  widows  of  pugilists,  unidentified 
orphans  of  pugilists,  etc.,  etc.,  and  they  are  all  just 
about  as  well  qualified  to  be  employes  as  you  are. 

I  suppose  you  would  poultice  a  hot  box  with 
pounded  ice,  and  so  would  they. 

I  am  sorry  to  hear  about  your  lame  leg.  The  sur- 
geon of  our  road  says  perhaps  you  do  not  use  it 
enough. 

Yours  for  the  thorough  enforcement  of  law, 

A.  V.  H.  CARPENTER.     Per  G. 


LINES  ON  TURNING  OVER   A   PASS   .  123 

Not  having  written  to  Mr.  Hughitt  of  the  North- 
western road  for  a  long  time,  and  fearing  that  he 
might  think  I  had  grown  cold  toward  him,  I  wrote  the 
following  note  on  the  gih : 

ASHEVILLE,  N.  C.,  Feb.  9,  1887. 

Marvin    Hughitt,    Second    Vice-President    and    Gen- 
eral  Manager    Chicago    &    Northwestein    Rail- 
way, Chicago,  111. 
Dear  Sir:— 

Excuse  me  for  not  writing  before.  I  did  not  wish 
to  write  you  until  I  could  do  so  in  a  bright  and  cheery 
manner,  and  for  some  weeks  I  have  been  the  hot-bed 
of  twenty-one  Early  Rose  boils.  It  was  extremely 
humorous  without  being  funny.  My  enemies  gloated 
over  me  in  ghoulish  glee. 

I  see  by  a  recent  statement  in  the  press  that  your 
road  has  greatly  increased  in  business.  Do  you  feel 
the  need  of  an  employe?  Any  light  employment  that 
will  be  honorable  without  involving  too  much  perspira- 
tion would  be  acceptable. 

I  am  traveling  about  a  good  deal  these  days,  and  if  I 
can  do  you  any  good  as  an  agent  or  in  referring  to  your 
smooth  road-bed  and  the  magnificent  scenery  along 
your  line,  I  would  be  glad  to  regard  that  in  the  light 
of  employment.  Everywhere  I  go  I  hear  your  road 
very  highly  spoken  of.  Yours  truly, 

BILL  NYE. 

I  shall  write  to  some  more  roads  in  a  few  weeks.  It 
seems  to  me  there  ought  to  be  work  for  a  man  who  is 
able  and  willing  to  be  an  employe. 


That  Night 

You  and  I,  and  that 
night,  with  its 
perfume  and 
glory!— 

The  scent  of  the 
locusts  —  the 
light  of  the 
moon; 

And  the  violin  weav- 
ing the  waltzers  ' 
a  story, 

Enmeshing  their  feet  in  the  weft 
of  the  tune, 

Till  their  shadows  uncertain, 
Reeled  round  on  the  curtain, 
While  under  the  trellis  we  drank  in 
the  June. 
124 


THAT    NIGHT  125 

Soaked  through  with  the  midnight,  the  cedars  were 

sleeping. 

Their  shadowy  tresses  outlined  in  the  bright 
Crystal,    moon-smitten    mists,   where    the    fountain's 

heart  leaping 

Forever,  forever  burst,  full  with  delight; 
And  its  lisp  on  my  spirit 
Fell  faint  as  that  near  it 
Whose  love  like  a  lily  bloomed  out  in  the  night 

O  your  glove  was  an  odorous  sachet  of  blisses! 

The  breath  of  your  fan  was  a  breeze  from  Cathay ! 
And  the  rose   at  your  throat  was  a    nest  o£  ppi'lec? 

kisses! — 

And  the  music ! — in  fancy  I  hear  it  to-day, 
As  I  sit  here,  confessing 
Our  secret,  and  blessing 
\f  y  rival  who  found  us,  and  waltzed  you  awajT 


The  Truth  about  Methuselah 

r-  E  first  met  Methuselah  in  the 
capacity  of  a  son.  At  the  age  of 
sixty-five  Enoch  arose  one  night  and 
telephoned  his  family  physician  to  come 
over  and  assist  him  in 
meeting  Methuselah. 
Day  at  last 
dawned  on 
Enoch's  happy 
home,  and  its  first 
red  rays  lit  up  the 
still  redder  sur- 
face of  the  little 
stranger.  For 
three  hundred 
years  Enoch  and 
Methuselah 
jogged  along  to- 
gether in  the  ca- 
Then  Enoch  was  suddenly 
cut  down.  It  was  at  this  time  that  little  Methuselah 
first  realized  what  it  was  to  be  an  orphan.  He  could 
not  at  first  realize  that  his  father  was  dead.  He  could 
not  understand  why  Enoch,  with  no  inherited  disease, 
should  be  shuffled  off  at  the  age  of  three  hundred  and 
sixty-five  years.  But  the  doctor  said  to  Methuselah: 


pacity  of  father  and  son. 


THE  TRUTH  ABOUT  METHUSELAH  127 

"My  son,  you  are  indeed  fatherless.  I  have  done  all  I 
could,  but  it  is  useless.  I  have  told  Enoch  many  a 
time  that  if  he  went  in  swimming  before  the  ice  went 
out  of  the  creek  it  would  finally  down  him,  but  he 
thought  he  knew  better  than  I  did.  He  was  a  head- 
strong man,  Enoch  was.  He  sneered  at  me  and 
alluded  to  me  as  a  fresh  young  gosling,  because  he 
was  three  hundred  years  older  than  I  was.  He  has 
received  the  reward  of  the  willful,  and  verily  the  doom 
of  the  smart  Aleck  is  his." 

Methuselah  now  cast  about  him  for  some  occupation 
which  would  take  up  his  attention  and  assuage  his 
wild,  passionate  grief  over  the  loss  of  his  father.  He 
entered  into  the  walks  of  men  and  learned  their  ways. 
It  was  at  this  time  that  he  learned  the  pernicious  habit 
of  using  tobacco.  We  cannot  wonder  at  it  when  we 
remember  that  he  was  now  fatherless.  He  was  at  the 
mercy  of  the  coarse,  rough  world.  Possibly  he 
learned  the  use  of  tobacco  when  he  went  away  to 
attend  business  college  after  the  death  of  his  father. 
Be  that  as  it  may,  the  noxious  weed  certainly  hastened 
his  death,  for  six  hundred  years  after  this  we  find  him 
a  corpse ! 

Death  is  ever  a  surprise,  even  at  the  end  of  a  long 
illness  and  after  a  ripe  old  age.  To  those  who  are 
near  it  seems  abrupt ;  so  to  his  grandchildren,  some  of 
whom  survived  him,  his  children  having  died  of  old 
age,  the  death  of  Methuselah  came  like  a  thunderbolt 
from  a  clear  sky. 

Methuselah  succeeded  in  cording  up  more  of  a  rec- 
ord, such  as  it  was,  than  any  other  man  of  whom  his- 
torv  informs  us.  Time,  the  tomb-builder  and  amateur 
diQwer,  came  and  leaned  over  the  front  yard  and 


128  THE  TRUTH  ABOUT  METHUSELAH 

looked  at  Methuselah,  and  ran  his  thumb  over  the 
jagged  edge  of  his  scythe,  and  went  away  whistling  a 
low  refrain.  He  kept  up  this  refrain  business  for 
nearly  ten  centuries,  while  Methuselah  continued  to 
stand  out  amid  the  general  wreck  of  men  and  nations. 

Even  as  the  young,  strong  mower  going  forth  with 
his  mower  for  to  mow  spareth  the  tall  and  drab  hor- 
net's nest  and  passeth  by  on  the  other  side,  so  Time, 
with  his  Waterbury  hour-glass  and  his  overworked 
hay-knife  over  his  shoulder,  and  his  long  Mormon 
whiskers,  and  his  high  sleek  dome  of  thought  with  its 
gray  lambrequin  of  hair  around  the  base  of  it,  mowed 
all  around  Methuselah  and  then  passed  on. 

Methuselah  decorated  the  graves  of  those  who  per- 
ished in  a  dozen  different  wars.  He  did  not  enlist 
himself,  for  over  nine  hundred  years  of  his  life  he  was 
exempt.  He  would  go  to  the  enlisting  places  and 
offer  his  services,  and  the  officer  would  tell  him  to  go 
home  and  encourage  hi:  grandchildren  to  go.  Then 
Methuselah  would  sit  arcund  Noah's  front  steps,  and 
smoke  and  criticise  the  conduct  of  the  war,  also  the 
conduct  of  the  enemy. 

It  is  said  of  Methuselah  that  he  never  was  the  same 
man  after  his  son  Lamech  died.  He  was  greatly 
attached  to  Lamech,  and,  when  he  woke  up  one  night 
to  find  his  son  purple  in  the  face  with  membraneous 
croup,  he  could  hardly  realize  that  he  might  lose  him 
The  idea  of  losing  a  boy  who  had  just  rounded  the 
glorious  morn  of  his  777th  year  had  never  occurred  to 
him.  But  death  loves  a  shining  mark,  and  he  garnered 
little  Lammie  and  left  Methuselah  to  mourn  for  a 
couple  of  centuries. 

Methuselah  finally  got  so  that  he  couldn't  sleep  any 


THE  TRUTH  ABOUT  METHUSELAH  129 

later  than  4  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  he  didn't  see 
how  any  one  else  could.  The  older  he  got,  and  the 
less  valuable  his  time  became,  the  earlier  he  would 
rise,  so  that  he  could  get  an  early  start.  As  the  cen- 
turies filed  slowly  by,  and  Methuselah  got  to  where  all 
he  had  to  do  was  to  shuffle  into  his  loose-fitting  clothes 
and  rest  his  gums  on  the  top  of  a  large  slick-headed 
cane  and  mutter  up  the  chimney,  and  then  groan  and. 
extricate  himself  from  his  clothes  again  and  retire,  he 
rose  earlier  and  earlier  in  the  morning,  and  muttered 
more  and  more  about  the  young  folks  sleeping  away 
the  best  of  the  day,  and  he  said  he  had  no  doubt  that 
sleeping  and  snoring  till  breakfast  time  helped  to  carry 
off  Lam.  But  one  day  old  Father  Time  came  along 
with  a  new  scythe,  and  he  drew  the  whetstone  across 
it  a  few  times,  and  rolled  the  sleeves  of  his  red-flannel 
undergarment  up  over  his  warty  elbows,  and  Mr. 
Methuselah  passed  on  to  that  undiscovered  country, 
with  a  ripe  experience  and  a  long  clean  record. 

We  can  almost  fancy  how  the  physicians,  who  had 
disagreed  about  his  case  all  the  way  through,  came 
and  insisted  on  a  post-mortem  examination  to  prove 
which  was  right  and  what  was  really  the  matter  with 
him.  We  can  imagine  how  people  went  by  shaking 
their  heads  and  regretting  that  Methuselah  should 
have  tampered  with  tobacco  when  he  knew  that  it 
affected  his  heart. 

But  he  is  gone.  He  lived  to  see  his  own  promissory 
notes  rise,  flourish,  acquire  interest,  pine  away  at  last 
and  finally  outlaw.  He  acquired  a  large  farm  in  the 
very  heart  of  the  county-seat,  and  refused  to  move  or 
vo  plot,  and  called  it  Methuselah's  addition.  He  came 
out  in  spring  regularly  for  nine  hundred  years  after  he 


130 


THE  TRUTH  ABOUT  METHUSELAH 


got  too  old  to  work  out  his  poll-tax  on  the  road,  and 
put  in  his  time  telling  the  rising  generation  how  to 
make  a  good  road.  Meantime  other  old  people,  who 
were  almost  one  hundred  years  of  age,  moved  away 
and  went  West  where  they  would  attract  attention  and 


command  respect.  There  was  actually  no  pleasure  in 
getting  old  around  where  Methuselah  was,  and  being 
ordered  about  and  scolded  and  kept  in  the  background 
by  him. 

So   when  at  last  he   died,  people   sighed   and   said: 
"Well,  it  was  better  for  him  to  die  before  he  got  child- 


THE  TRUTH  ABOUT  METHUSELAH  131 

ishx1  It  was  best  that  he  should  die  at  a  time  when  he 
knew  it  all.  We  can't  help  thinking  what  an  acquisi- 
tion Methuselah  will  be  on  the  evergreen  shore  when 
he  gets  there,  with  all  his  ripe  experience  and  his 
habits  of  early  rising." 

And  the  next  morning  after  the  funeral  Methuselah's 
family  did  not  get  out  of  bed  till  nearly  9  o'clock. 


A  Black  Hills  Episode 

A  little,  warty,  driecUup  sort 
O'  lookin'  chap  'at  hadn't  ort 
A  ben  a-usin'  round  no  bar, 
With  gents  like  us  a-drinkin'  thar! 

And  that  idee  occurred  to  me 
The  livin'  minit  'at  I  see 
The  little  cuss  elbowin*  in 
To  humor  his  besettin'  sin. 

There  're  nothin'  small  in  me  at  all, 
But  when  I  heer  the  rooster  call 
For  shugar  and  a  spoon,  I  says: 
"Jest  got  in  from  the  States,  I  guess.'" 

He  never  'peared  as  if  he  heerd, 
But  stood  thar,  wipin'  uv  his  beard, 
And  smilin'  to  hisself  as  if 
I'd  been  a-givin'  him  a  stiff. 

And  I-says-I,  a  edgin'  by 
The  bantam,  and  a-gazin*  high 
Above  his  plug — says  I:  "I  knowed 
A  little  feller  onc't  'at  blowed 
132 


A    BLACK    HILLS   EPISODE  133 

"Around  like  you,  and  tuck  his  drinks 
With  shugar  in — and  his  folks  thinks 
He's  dead  now — 'cause  we  boxed  and  sent 
The  scraps  back  to  the  Settlement!" 

The  boys  tells  me,  'at  got  to  see 
His  modus  operandum,  he 
Jest  'peared  to  come  onjointed-like 
Afore  he  ever  struck  a  strike ! 

And  I'll  admit,  the  way  he  fit 
Wuz  dazzlin' — what  I  see  uv  hit; 
And  squarin'  things  up  fair  and  fine, 
Says  I:  "A  little  'shug'  in  mine!" 


The  Rossville  Lecture  Course 


ROSSVILLE,  Mich.,  March,  '87. 

OLKS  up  here  at  Rossville  got 

up  a  lectur'-course; 
All  the    leadin'    citizens    they 

wus  out  in  force; 
Met  and  talked  at  Williamses, 

and  'greed  to  meet  agin, 
And  helt  another  corkus  when 

the  next  reports  wuz  in; 
Met    agin    at    Samuelses;    and 

met  agin  at  Moore's, 
And  Johnts  he  put  the  shutters 

up    and    jest    barred    the 

doors ! — 
Andyit,  I'll  jest  be  dagg-don'd! 

ef  didn't  take  a  week 
'Fore  we'd  settled  where  to  write  to  git  a  man  to  speak ! 

Found  out  where  the  Bureau  wus,  and  then  and  there 

agreed 

To  strike  while  the  iron's  hot,  and  foller  up  the  lead. 
Simp  was  secatary;  so  he  tuck  his  pen  in  hand, 
And  ast  what  they'd  tax   us    for  the   one  on    "Holy 

Land" — 

"One  of  Colonel  J.  De-Koombs  Abelust  and  Best 
Lecturs, "  the  circ'lar  stated,  "Give  East  er  West!" 
Wanted  fifty  dollars,  and  his  kyar-fare  to  and  from, 
And  Simp  was  hence  instructed  fer  to  write  him  not  to 

come. 

134 


THE    ROSSVILLE    LECTURE   COURSE  135 

Then  we  talked  and  jawed  around  another  week  er  so, 
And  writ  the  Bureau  'bout  the  town  a-bein*  sort  o' 

slow 

And  fogey-like,  and  pore  as  dirt,  and  lackin'  enter- 
prise, 

And  ignornter'n  any  other  'cordin'  to  its  size: 
Till  finally  the  Bureau  said  they'd  send  a  cheaper  man 
Per   forty   dollars,    who   would   give  "A  Talk  about 

Japan" — 
"A  regular  Japanee    hiss'f, "   the  pamphlet  claimed; 

and  so, 

Nobody  knowed  his  languige,  and  of  course  we  let 
him  go! 

Kindo*  then  let  up  a  spell — but  rallied  onc't  ag'in, 
And   writ    to    price    a   feller    on    what's    called    the 

"violin" — 
A  Swede,  er  Pole,  er  somepin — but  no  matter  what  he 

wus, 
Doc  Sifers  said  he'd  heerd  him,  and  he  wusn't  wuth  a 

kuss! 
And  then  we  ast  fer  Swingses  terms;    and  Cook,  and 

Ingersoll — 

And  blame !  ef  forty  dollars  looked  like  anything  at  all ! 
And  then  Burdette,  we  tried  fer  him;  and  Bob  he  writ 

to  say 
He    wus    busy  writin'  ortographts,   and  couldn't  git 

away. 

At  last — along  in  Aprile — we  signed  to  take  this-here 
Bill  Nye  of  Californy,  'at  was  posted  to  appear 
"The   Humorestest  Funny  Man   'at  Ever  Jammed  a 
Hall!" 


136 


THE    ROSSVILLE    LECTURE    COURSE 


So  we  made  big  preparations,  and  swep'  out  the  church 

and  all! 
And  night  he  wus  to  lectur',  and  the  neighbors  all  was 

there, 
And  strangers  packed  along  the  aisles  'at  come  from 

ever'where, 

Committee  got  a  telegrapht  the  preacher  read,  'at  run — 
"Got  off  at  Rossville,  Indiany,  stead  of  Michigan." 


The  Tar-heel  Cow 


ASHEVILLE,     N.     C., 

December  9. — There 
is  no  place  in  the 
United  States,  so  far 
as  I  know,  where  the 
cow  is  more  versatile 
or  ambidextrous,  if  I 
may  be  allowed  the 
use  of  a  term  that  is 
far  above  my  station 
in  life,  than  here  in 
the  mountains  of 
North  Carolina, 
where  the  obese 
'possum  and  the 
anonymous  distiller 
have  their  homes. 

Not  only  is  the 
Tar-heel  cow  the 
author  of  a  pale  but 
athletic  style  of  but- 
ter, but  in  her  leisure 
hours  she  aids  in  till- 
ing the  perpendic- 
ular farm  on  the 
hillside,  or  draws  the 
products  to  market. 
In  this  way  she  con- 
trives to  put  in  her 
time  to  the  best  ad- 
vantage, and  when 


138 


THE    TAR-HEEL    COW 


she  dies,  it  casts  a  gloom  over  the  community  in  which 
she  has  resided. 

The  life  of  a  North  Carolina  cow  is  indeed  fraught 
with  various  changes  and  saturated  with  a  zeal  which 
is  praiseworthy  in  the  extreme.  From  the  sunny  days 
when  she  gambols  through  the  beautiful  valleys, 
inserting  her  black  retrousse  and  perspiration-dotted 
nose  into  the  blue  grass  from  ear  to  ear,  until  at  life's 

close,  when  every 
part  and  portion 
of  her  overworked 
system  is  turned 
into  food,  raiment 
or  overcoat  but- 
tons, the  life  of  a 
Tar -heel  cow  is 
one  of  intense 
activity. 

Her  girlhood  in 
short,  and  almost 
before  we  have 
deemed  her  eman- 
cipated from  calf- 
hood  herself  we  find  her  in  the  capacity  of  a  mother. 
With  the  cares  of  maternity  other  demands  are  quickly 
made  upon  her.  She  is  obliged  to  ostracize  herself 
from  society,  and  enter  into  the  prosaic  details  of  pro- 
ducing small,  pallid  globules  of  butter,  the  very  pallor 
of  which  so  thoroughly  belies  its  lusty  strength. 

The  butter  she  turns  out  rapidly  until  it  begins  to 
be  worth  something,  when  she  suddenly  suspends 
publication  and  begins  to  haul  wood  to  market.  In 
this  great  work  she  is  assisted  by  the  pearl -gray  or  ecru 


THE    TAR-HEEL    COW  139 

colored  jackass  of  the  tepid  South.  This  animal  has 
been  referred  to  in  the  newspapers  throughout  the 
country,  and  yet  he  never  ceases  to  be  an  object  of 
the  greatest  interest. 

Jackasses  in  the  South  are  of  two  kinds,  viz  ,  male 
and  female.  Much  as  has  been  said  of  the  jackass  pro 
and  con,  I  do  not  remember  ever  to  have  seen  the 
above  statement  in  print  before,  and  yet  it  is  as  trite 
as  it  is  incontrovertible.  In  the  Rocky  mountains  we 
call  this  animal  the  burro.  There  he  packs  bacon, 
flour  and  salt  to  the  miners.  The  mineis  eat  the 
bacon  and  flour,  and  with  the  salt  they  are  enabled 
successfully  to  salt  the  mines. 

The  burro  has  a  low,  contralto  voice  which  ought  to 
have  some  machine  oil  on  it.  The  voice  of  this  ani- 
mal is  not  unpleasant  if  he  would  pull  some  of  the 
pathos  out  of  it  and  make  it  more  joyous. 

Heie  the  jacka.-s  at  times  becomes  a  co-worker  with 
the  cow  in  hauling  tobacco  and  other  necessaries  of 
life  into  town,  but  he  goes  no  further  in  the  matter  of 
assistance.  He  compels  her  to  tread  the  cheese  press 
alone  and  contributes  nothing  whatever  in  the  way  of 
assistance  for  the  butter  industry. 

The  North  Carolina  cow  is  frequently  seen  here 
driven  double  or  single  by  means  of  a  small  rope  line 
attached  to  a  tall,  emaciated  gentleman,  who  is  gener- 
ally clothed  with  the  divine  right  of  suffrage,  to  which 
he  adds  a  small  pair  of  ear-bobbs  during  the  holidays. 

The  cow  is  attached  to  each  shaft  and  a  small  single- 
tise,  or  swingletree,  by  means  of  a  broad  strap  har- 
ness. She  also  wears  a  breeching,  in  which  respect 
she  frequently  has  the  advantage  of  her  escort. 

I  think   I  have  never  witnessed  .a  sadder  sight  than 


THE    TAR-HEEL    COW  140 

that  of  a  new  milch  cow,  torn  away  from  home  and 
friends  and  kindred  dear,  descending  a  steep,  moun- 
tain road  at  a  rapid  rate  and  striving  in  her  poor,  weak 
manner  to  keep  out  of  the  way  of  a  small  Jackson 
Democratic  wagon  loaded  with  a  big  hogshead  full  of 
tobacco.  It  seems  to  me  so  totally  foreign  to  the 
nature  of  the  cow  to  enter  into  the  tobacco  traffic,  a 
line  of  business  for  which  she  can  have  no  sympathy 
and  in  which  she  certainly  can  feel  very  little  interest. 

Tobacco  of  the  very  finest  kind  is  produced  here, 
and  is  used  mainly  for  smoking  purposes.  It  is  the 
highest-price  tobacco  produced  in  this  country.  A 
tobacco  broker  here  yesterday  showed  me  a  large 
quantity  of  what  he  called  export  tobacco.  It  looks 
very  much  like  other  tobacco  while  growing. 

He  says  that  foreigneis  use  a  great  deal  of  this  kind. 
I  am  learning  all  about  the  tobacco  industry  while 
here,  and  as  fast  as  I  get  hold  of  any  new  facts  I  will 
communicate  them  to  the  press.  The  newspapers  of 
this  country  have  done  much  for  me,  not  only  by  pub^ 
lishing  many  pleasant  things  about  me,  but  by  refrain- 
ing  from  publishing  other  things  about  me,  and  so  I 
am  glad  to  be  able,  now  and  then,  to  repay  this  kind- 
ness by  furnishing  information  and  facts  for  which  I 
have  no  use  myself,  but  which  may  be  of  incalculable 
value  to  the  press. 

As  I  write  these  lines  I  am  informed  that  the  snow 
is  twenty-six  inches  deep  here  and  four  feet  deep  at 
High  Point  in  this  State.  People  who  did  not  bring 
in  their  pomegranates  last  evening  are  bitterly  bewail- 
ing their  thoughtlessness  to-day. 

A  great  many  people  come  here  from  various  parts 
of  the  world,  for  the  climate.  When  they  have 


141  THE    TAR-HEEL   COW 

remained  here  for  one  winter,  however,  they  decide  to 
leave  it  where  it  is. 

It  is  said  that  the  climate  here  is  very  much  like  that 
of  Turin.  But  I  did  not  intend  to  go  to  Turin  even 
before  I  heard  about  that. 

Please  send  my  paper  to  the  same  address,  and  if 
some  one  who  knows  a  good  remedy  for  chilblains 
will  contribute  it  to  these  columns,  I  shall  watch  for  it 
with  great  interest.  Yours  as  here  2  4, 

BILL  NYE. 

P.  S. — I  should  have  said,  relative  to  the  cow  of 
this  State,  that  if  the  owners  would  work  their  butter 
more  and  their  cows  less  they  would  confer  a  great 
boon  on  the  consumer  of  both.  B.  N. 


A    Character 


I. 

Swallowed  up  in  gulfs 

of  tho't— 
Eye-glass  fixed  —  on  — 

who  knows  what? 
We  but  know  he  sees 

us  not. 

Chance  upon  him,  here 
and  there — 

Base-ball  park — Indus- 
trial Fair — 

Broadway  —  Long 
Branch — anywhere ! 

Even    at    the    races, — 

yet 
With    his    eye  -  glass 

tranced  and  set 
On    some    dream-land 

minaret. 


At  the  beach,  the  where,  perchance- 
Tenderest  of  eyes  may  glance 
On  the  fitness  of  his  pants. 

Vain!  all  admiration — vain! 
His  mouth,  o'er  and  o'er  again 
Absently  absorbs  his  cane. 
142 


A    CHARACTER 

Vain,  as  well,  all  tribute  paid 
To  his  morning  coat,  inlaid 
With  crossbars  of  every  shade. 

He  is  oblivious,  tno 

We  played  checkers  to  and  fro 

On  his  back — he  would  not  know. 

II. 

So  removed — illustrious — 

Peace !  kiss  hands,  and  leave  him  thus. 

He  hath  never  need  of  us! 

Come  away!     Enough!     Let  be! 
Purest  praise,  to  such  as  he, 
Were  as  basest  obloquy. 

Vex  no  more  that  mind  of  his, 
We,  to  him,  are  but  as  phizz 
Unto  pop  that  knows  it  is. 

Haply,  even  as  we  prate 

Of  him  HERE— in  astral  state— 

Or  jackastral — he,  elate, 

Brouses  'round,  with  sportive  hops 
In  far  fields  of  sphery  crops, 
Nibbling  stars  like  clover-tops. 

He,  occult  and  psychic,  may 
Now  be  solving  why  to-dav 
Is  not  midnight. — But  away! 

Cease  vain  queries!     Let  us  go! 
Leave  him  all  unfathomed. — Lo, 
He  can  hear  his  whiskers  grow. 


The  Diary  of  Darius  T.  Skinner 


"FIFTH  AVENUE  HOTEL,  New  York,  Dec.  31, 
188 — . — It  hardly  seems  possible  that  I  am  here  in 
New  York,  putting  up  at  a  hotel  where  it  costs  me  $5 

144 


THE    DIARY    OF    DARIUS    T.    SKINNER  145 

or  $6  a  day  just  simply  to  exist.  I  came  here  from 
my  far  away-home  entirely  alone.  I  have  no  business 
here,  but  I  simply  desired  to  rub  up  against  greatness 
for  awhile.  I  need  polish,  and  I  am  smart  enough  to 
know  it. 

"I  write  this  entry  in  my  diary  to  explain  who  I 
am  and  to  help  identify  myself  in  case  I  should  come 
home  to  my  room  intoxicated  some  night  and  blow 
out  the  gas. 

"The  reason  I  am  here  is  that  last  summer  while 
whacking  bulls,  which  is  really  my  business,  I  grub- 
staked Alonzo  McReddy  and  forgot  about  it  till  I  got 
back  and  the  boys  told  me  that  Lon  had  struck  a  First 
National  bank  in  the  shape  of  the  Sarah  Waters 
claim.  He  was  then  very  low  with  mountain  fever 
and  so  nobody  felt  like  jumping  the  claim.  Saturday 
afternoon  Alonzo  passed  away  and  left  me  the  Sarah 
Waters.  That's  the  only  sad  thing  about  the  whole 
business  now.  I  am  raised  from  bull-whacking  to 
affluence,  but  Alonzo  is  not  here.  How  we  would 
take  in  the  town  together  if  he'd  lived,  for  the  Sarah 
Waters  was  enough  to  make  us  both  well  fixed. 

"I  can  imagine  Lon's  look  of  surprise  and  pride  as 
he  looks  over  the  outer  battlements  of  the  New  Jeru- 
salem and  watches  me  paint  the  town.  Little  did  Lon 
think  when  I  pulled  out  across  the  flat  with  my 
whiskers  full  of  alkali  dust  and  my  cuticle  full  of  raw 
agency  whisky,  that  inside  of  a  year  I  would  be  a 
nabob,  wearing  biled  shirts  every  single  day  of  my 
life,  and  clothes  made  specially  for  me. 

"Life  is  full  of  sudden  turns,  and  no  one  knows 
here  in  America  where  he'll  be  in  two  weeks  from 
now.  I  may  be  back  there  associating  with  greasers 


140  THE  DIARY  OF   DARIUS  T.    SKINNER 

again  as  of  yore  and  skinning  the  same  bulls  that  I 
have  heretofore  skun. 

"Last  evening  I  went  to  see  'The  Mikado, '  a  kind 
of  singing  theater  and  Chinese  walk-around.  It  is 
what  I  would  call  no  good.  It  is  acted  out  by  differ- 
ent people  who  claim  they  are  Chinamen,  I  reckon. 
They  teeter  around  on  the  stage  and  sing  in  the  Eng- 
lish language,  but  their  clothes  are  peculiar.  A 
homely  man,  who  played  that  he  was  the  lord  high 
executioner  and  chairman  of  the  vigilance  committee, 
wore  a  pair  of  wide,  bandana  pants,  which  came  off 
during  the  first  act.  He  was  cool  and  collected, 
though,  and  so  caught  them  before  it  was  everlastingly 
too  late.  He  held  them  on  by  one  hand  while  he 
sang  the  rest  of  his  piece,  and  when  he  left  the  stage 
the  audience  heartlessly  whooped  for  him  to  come 
back. 

"  'The  Mikado'  is  not  funny  or  instructive  as  a  gen- 
eral thing,  but  last  night  it  was  accidently  facetious. 
It  has  too  much  singing  and  not  enough  vocal  music 
about  it.  There  is  also  an  overplus  of  conversation 
through  the  thing  that  seems  like  talking  at  a  mark 
for  $2  a  week.  It  may  be  owing  to  my  simple  ways, 
but  'The  Mikado'  is  too  rich  for  my  blood 

"We  live  well  here  at  the  Fifth  Avenue.  The  man 
that  owns  the  place  puts  two  silver  forks  and  a  clean 
tablecloth  on  my  table  every  day,  and  the  young  fel- 
lows that  pass  the  grub  around  are  so  well  dressed 
that  it  seems  sassy  and  presumptious  for  me  to  bother 
them  by  asking  them  to  bring  me  stuff  when  I'd  just 
as  soon  go  and  get  it  myself  and  nothing  else  in  the 
world  to  do. 

"I  told  the  waiter  at  my  table  yesterday  that  when 


THE  DIARY  OF  DARIUS  T.   SKINNER  147 

he  got  time  I  wished  he  would  come  up  to  my  room 
and  we  could  have  a  game  of  old  sledge.  He  is  a 
nice  young  man,  and  puts  himself  out  a  good  deal  to 
make  me  comfortable. 

"I  found  something  yesterday  at  the  table  that 
bothered  me.  It  was  a  new  kind  of  a  silver  dingus, 
with  two  handles  to  it,  for  getting  a  lump  of  sugar 
into  your  tea.  I  saw  right  away  that  it  was  for  that, 
but  when  I  took  the  two  handles  in  my  hand  like  a  nut 
cracker  and  tried  to  scoop  up  a  lump  of  sugar  with  it 
I  felt  embarrassed.  Several  people  who  were  total 
strangers  to  me  smiled. 

"After  dinner  the  waiter  brought  me  a  little  pink- 
glass  bowl  of  lemonade  and  a  clean  wipe  to  dry  my 
mouth  with,  I  reckon,  after  I  drank  the  lemonade.  I 
do  not  pine  for  lemonade  much,  anyhow,  but  this  was 
specially  poor.  It  was  just  plain  water,  with  a  lemon 
rind  and  no  sugar  into  it. 

"One  rural  rooster  from  Pittsburg  showed  his  con- 
tempt for  the  blamed  stuff  by  washing  his  hands  in  it. 
I  may  be  rough  and  uncouth  in  my  style,  but  I  hope  I 
will  never  lower  myself  like  that  in  company." 


O,  The  Man  in  the  Moon  has  a  crick  in  his  back ; 
Whee! 
Whimm ! 

Ain't  you  sorry  for  him? 

And  a  mole  on  his  nose  that  is  purple  and  black ; 
And  his  eyes  are  so  weak  that  they  water  and  run 
If  he  dares  to  dream  even  he  looks  at  the  sun, — 
So  he  just  dreams  of  stars,  as  the  doctors  advise — 
My! 
Eyes ! 

But  isn't  he  wise — 
To  just  dream  of  stars,  as  the  doctors  advise? 

And  The  Man  in  the  Moon  has  a  boil  on  his  ear — 
Whee! 
Whing! 

What  a  singular  thing! 

I  know;  but  these  facts  are  authentic,  my  dear, — 
148 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    MOON  149 

There's  a  boil  on  his  ear,  and  a  corn  on  his  chin — 
He  calls  it  a  dimple, — but  dimples  stick  in — 
Yet  it  might  be  a  dimple  turned  over,  you  know; 
Whang! 
Ho! 

Why,  certainly  so! — 
It  might  be  a  dimple  turned  over,  you  know! 

And  The  Man  in  the  Moon  has  a  rheumatic  knee- 
Gee! 
Whizz! 

^"hat  a  pity  that  is! 
And  his  toes  have  worked  round  where  his  heels  ought 

to  be. — 

So  whenever  he  wants  to  go  North  he  goes  South, 
And  comes  back  with  porridge-crumbs  all  round  his 

mouth, 

And  he  brushes  them  off  with  a  Japanese  fan, 
Whing! 
Whann ! 

What  a  marvelous  man ! 
What  a  very  remarkably  marvelous  man! 


I  watch  him,  with  his  Christ- 
mas sled ; 

He  hitches  on  behind 
A  passing  sleigh,  with  glad 

hooray, 
And    whistles    down    the 

wind ; 
He  hears  the  horses  champ 

their  bits, 
And    bells     that     jingle- 
jingle— 

You  Woolly  Cap!  you  Scarlet  Mitts! 
You  miniature  "Kriss  Kringle!" 

I  almost  catch  your  secret  joy — 

Your  chucklings  of  delight, 
The  while  you  whizz  where  glory  is 

Eternally  in  sight! 
With  you  I  catch  my  breath,  as  swift 

Your  jaunty  sled  goes  gliding 
O'er  glassy  track  and  shallow  drift, 

As  I  behind  were  riding! 
150 


HIS    CHRISTMAS   SLED  151 

He  winks  at  twinklings  of  the  frosc 

And  on  his  airy  race, 
Its  tingles  beat  to  redder  heat 

The  rapture  of  his  face: — 
The  colder,  keener  is  the  air, 

The  less  he  cares  a  feather. 
But,  there!  he's  gone!  and  I  gaze  ou 

The  wintriest  of  weather! 

Ah,  boy!  still  speeding  o'er  the  track 

Where  none  returns  again, 
To  Sigh  for  you,  or  cry  for  you, 

Or  die  for  you  were  vain. — 
And  so,  speed  on!  the  while  I  pray 

All  nipping  frosts  forsake  you — 
Ride  still  ahead  of  grief,  but  may 

All  glad  things  overtake  you! 


Her  Tired  Hands 


BOARD  a  western 
train  the  other  day 
I  held  in  my  bos- 
om for  over  sev- 
enty-five miles  the 
elbow  of  a  large 
man  whose  name 
I  do  not  know. 
He  was  not  a  rail- 
road  hog  or  I 
would  have  re- 
sented it.  He  was 
built  wide  and  he 
couldn't  help  it, 
so  I  forgave  him. 
He  had  a  large, 
gentle,  kindly  eye, 
and  when  he  de- 
sired to  spit,  he 
went  to  the  car  door,  opened  it  and  decorated  the 
entire  outside  of  the  train,  forgetting  that  our  speed 
would  help  to  give  scope  to  his  remarks. 

Naturally  as  he  sat  there1  by  my  side,  holding  on 
tightly  to  his  ticket  and  evidently  afraid  that  the  con- 
ductor would  forget  to  come  arid  get  it,  I  began  to  fig- 

153 


HER    TIRED    HANDS 


153 


ure  out  in  my  mind  what  might  be  his  business.  He 
had  pounded  one  thumb  so  that  the  nail  was  black 
where  the  blood  had  settled  under  it.  This  might 
happen  to  a  shoemaker,  a  carpenter,  a  blacksmith  or 
most  anyone  else.  So  it  didn't  help  me  out  much, 


though  it  looked  to  me  as  though  it  might  have  been 
done  by  trying  to  drive  a  fence-nail  through  a  leather 
hinge  with  the  back  of  an  axe,  and  nobody  but  a 
farmer  would  try  to  do  that.  Following  up  the  clue, 
I  discovered  that  he  had  milked  on  his  boots  and  then  I 


154  HER    TIRED    HANDS 

knew  I  was  right.  The  man  who  milks  before  day- 
light, in  a  dark  barn,  when  the  thermometer  is  down 
to  28  degrees  below  and  who  hits  his  boot  and  misses 
the  pail,  by  reason  of  the  cold  and  the  uncertain  light 
and  the  prudishness  of  the  cow,  is  a  marked  man. 
He  cannot  conceal  the  fact  that  he  is  a  farmer  unless 


he  removes  that  badge.  So  I  started  out  on  that 
theory  and  remarked  that  this  would  pass  for  a  pretty 
hard  winter  on  stock. 

The  thought  was  not  original  with  me,  for  I  have 
heard  it  expressed  by  others  either  in  this  country  or 
Europe.  He  said  it  would. 


HER    TIRED    HANDS  155 

"My  cattle  has  gone  through  a  whole  mowful  ov  hay 
sence  October  and  eleven  ton  o'  brand.  Hay  don't 
seem  to  have  the  goodness  to  it  thet  it  hed  last  year, 
and  with  their  new  /r^-cess  griss  mills  they  jerk  all 
the  juice  out  o'  brand,  so's  you  might  as  well  feed 
cows  with  excelsior  and  upholster  your  horses  with 
hemlock  bark  as  to  buy  brand." 

"Well,  why  do  you  run  so  much  to  stock?  Why 
don't  you  try  diversified  farming,  and  rotation  of 
crops?" 

"Well,  probably  you  got  that  idee  in  the  papers. 
A  man  that  earns  big  wages  writing  Farm  Hints  foi 
agricultural  papers  can  make  more  money  with  a  soft 
lead  pencil  and  two  or  three  season-cracked  idees  like 
that'n  I  can  carrying  of  'em  out  on  the  farm.  We 
used  to  have  a  feller  in  the  drugstore  in  our  town  that 
wrote  such  good  pieces  for  the  Rural  Vcrtnonter  and 
made  up  such  a  good  condition  powder  out  of  his  own 
head,  that  two  years  ago  we  asked  him  to  write  a 
nessay  for  the  annual  meeting  of  the  Buckwheat  Trust, 
and  to  use  his  own  judgment  about  choice  of  subject. 
And  what  do  you  s'pose  he  had  selected  for  a  nessay 
that  took  the  whole  forenoon  to  read?" 

"What  subject,  you  mean?" 

"Yes." 

"Give  it  up!" 

"Well,  he'd  wrote  out  that  whole  blamed  intellectual 
wad  on  the  subject  of  'The  Inhumanity  of  Dehorning 
Hydraulic  Rams.'  How's  that?" 

"That's  pretty  fair." 

"Well,  farmin'  is  like  runnin'  a  paper  in  regards  to 
some  things.  Every  feller  in  the  world  will  take  and 
turn  in  and  tell  you  how  to  do  it,  even  if  he  don't  know 


156  HER    TIRED    HANDS 

a  blame  thing  about  it.  There  ain't  a  man  in  the 
United  States  to-day  that  don't  secretly  think  he  could 
run  airy  one  if  his  other  business  busted  on  him, 
whether  he  knows  the  difference  between  a  new  niilch 
cow  and  a  horse  hayrake  or  not.  We  had  one  of  these 
embroidered  night-shirt  farmers  come  from  town  bet- 
ter'n  three  years  ago.  Been  a  toilet  soap  man  and 
done  well,  and  so  he  came  out  and  bought  a  farm  that 
had  nothing  to  it  but  a  fancy  house  and  barn,  a  lot  of 
medder  in  the  front  yard  and  a  southern  aspect.  The 
farm  was  no  good.  You  couldn't  raise  a  disturbance 
or  it.  Well,  what  does  he  do?  Goes  and  gits  a  passle 
of  slim-tailed,  yeller  cows  from  New  Jersey  and  aims 
to  handle  cream  and  diversified  farming.  Last  year 
the  cuss  sent  a  load  of  cream  over  and  tried  to  sell  it 
at  the  new  creamatory  while  the  funeral  and  hollercost 
was  goin'  on.  I  may  be  a  sort  of  a  chump  myself,  but 
I  read  my  paper  and  don't  get  left  like  that." 

"What  are  the  prospects  for  farmers  in  your 
State?" 

"Well,  they  are  pore.  Never  was  so  pore,  in  fact, 
sence  I've  ben  there.  Folks  wonder  why  boys  leaves 
the  farm.  My  boys  left  so  as  to  get  protected,  they 
said,  and  so  they  went  into  a  clothing-store,  one  of 
'em,  and  one  went  into  hardward  and  one  is  talking 
protection  in  the  Legislature  this  winter.  They  said 
that  fartnin'  was  gittin'  to  be  like  fishin'  and  huntin', 
well  enough  for  a  man  that  has  means  and  leisure,  bin 
they  couldn't  make  a  livin  at  it,  they  said.  Anothe- 
boy  is  in  a  drug  store,  and  the  man  that  hires  him  says 
he  is  a  royal  feller." 

"Kind  of  a  castor  royal  feller,"  I  said,  with  a  shriek 
of  laughter. 


HER    TIRED    HANDS 


157 


He  waited  until  I  had  laughed  all  I  wanted  to  and 
then  he  said : 

"I've  always  hollered  for  high  terriff  in  order  to  hyst 
the  public  debt,  but  now  that  we've  got  the  national 
debt  coopered  I  wish  they'd  take  a  little  hack  at  mine. 
I've  put  in  fifty  years  farmin'.  I  never  drank  licker 


in  any  form.  I've  worked  from  ten  to  eighteen  hours 
a  day,  been  economical  in  cloze  and  never  went  to  a 
show  more'n  a  dozen  times  in  my  life,  raised  a  family 
and  learned  upward  of  two  hundred  calves  to  drink 
out  of  a  tin  pail  without  blowing  all  their  vittles  up 
my  sleeve.  My  wife  worked  alongside  o*  me  sewin* 
new  seats  on  the  boys'  pants,  skimmin'  milk  and  even 


158  HER    TIRED    HANDS 

helpin*  me  load  hay.  For  forty  years  we  toiled  along 
to-gether  and  hardly  got  time  to  look  into  each  others' 
faces  or  dared  to  stop  and  get  acquainted  with  each 
other.  Then  her  health  failed.  Ketched  cold  in  the 
spring  house,  prob'ly  skimmin'  milk  and  washin"  pans 
and  scaldin'  pails  and  spankin'  butter.  Any  how,  she 
took  in  a  long  breath  one  day  while  the  doctor  and 
me  was  watchin*  her,  and  she  says  to  me,  'Henry," 
says  she,  'I've  got  a  chance  to  rest,'  and  she  put  one 
tired,  wore-out  hand  on  top  of  the  other  tired,  wore- 
out  hand,  and  I  knew  she'd  gone  where  they  don't 
work  all  day  and  do  chores  all  night. 

"I  took  time  to  kiss  her  then.  I'd  been  too  busy  for 
a  good  while  previous  to  that,  and  then  I  called  in  the 
boys.  After  the  funeral  it  was  too  much  for  them  to 
stay  around  and  eat  the  kind  of  cookin'  we  had  to  put 
up  with,  and  nobody  spoke  up  around  the  house  as  we 
used  to.  The  boys  quit  whistlin'  around  the  barn  and 
talked  kind  of  low  by  themselves  about  going  to  town 
and  gettin*  a  job. 

"They're  all  gone  now  and  the  snow  is  four  feet 
deep  on  mother's  grave  up  there  in  the  old  berryin* 
ground." 

Then  both  of  us  looked  out  of  the  car  window  quite 
a  long  while  without  saying  anything. 

"I  don't  blame  the  boys  for  going  into  something 
else  long's  other  things  paysbetter;  but  I  say — and  I 
say  what  I  know — that  the  man  who  holds  the  pros- 
perity of  this  country  in  his  hands,  the  man  that 
actually  makes  money  for  other  people  to  spend,  the 
man  that  eats  three  good,  simple,  square  meals  a  day 
and  goes  to  bed  at  nine  o'clock,  so  that  future  genera- 
tions with  good  blood  and  cool  brains  can  go  from  his 


HER    TIRED    HANDS  159 

.  cc  the  Senate  and  Congress  and  the  While  House 
— hfc  is  the  man  that  gets  left  at  last  to  run  his  farm, 
with  nobody  to  help  him  but  a  hired  man  and  a  high 
protective  terriff.  The  farms  in  our  State  is  mort- 
gaged for  over  seven  hundred  million  dollars.  Ten  of 
our  Western  States — I  see  by  the  papers — has  got 
about  three  billion  and  a  half  mortgages  on  their 
farms,  and  that  don't  count  the  chattel  mortgages  filed 
with  the  town  clerks  on  farm  machinery,  stock,  wag- 
gins,  and  even  crops,  by  gosh!  that  ain't  two  inches 
high  under  the  snow.  That's  what  the  prospects  is 
for  farmers  now.  The  Government  is  rich,  but  the 
men  that  made  it,  the  men  that  fought  perarie  fires 
and  perarie  wolves  and  Injuns  and  potato-bugs  and 
blizzards,  and  has  paid  the  war  debt  and  pensions  and 
everything  else  and  hollered  for  the  Union  and  the 
Republican  party  and  free  schools  and  high  terriff  and 
anything  else  that  they  was  told  to,  is  left  high  and  dry 
this  cold  winter  with  a  mortgage  of  seven  billions  and 
a  half  on  the  farms  they  have  earned  and  saved  a 
thousand  times  over." 

"Yes;  but  look  at  the  glory  of  sending  from  the 
farm  the  future  President,  the  future  Senator  and  the 
future  member  of  Congress." 

"That  looks  well  on  paper,  but  what  does  it  really 
amount  to?  Soon  as  a  farmer  boy  gits  in  a  place  like 
that  he  forgets  the  soil  that  produced  him  and  holds 
his  head  as  high  as  a  holly-hock.  He  bellers  for  pro- 
tection to  everybody  but  the  farmer,  and  while  he  sails 
round  in  a  highty-tighty  room  with  a  fire  in  it  night 
and  day,  his  father  on  the  farm,  has  to  kindle  his  own 
fire  in  the  morning  with  elm  slivvers,  and  he  has  to 
wear  his  own  son's  lawn-tennis  suit  next  to  him  or 


160 


HER    TIRED    HANDS 


freeze  to  death,  and  he  has  to  milk  in  an  old  gray 
shawl  that  has  held  that  member  of  Congress  when  he 
was  a  baby,  by  gorry !  and  the  old  lady  has  to  sojourn 
through  the  winter  in  the  flannel  that  was  wore  at  the 
riggatter  before  he  went  to  Congress. 

"So  I  say,  and  I  think  that  Congress  agrees  with 
me.  Damn  a  farmer,  anyhow!" 

He  then  went  away. 


Ezra  House 

Come  listen,  good  people,  while  a  story  I  do  tell, 
Of  the  sad  fate  of  one  which  I  knew  so  passing  well; 
He  enlisted  at  McCordsville,  to  battle  in  the  south, 
And  protect  his  country's  union;    his  name  was  Ezra 
House. 

He  was  a  young  school-teacher,  and  educated  high 
In  regards  to  Ray's  arithmetic,  and  also  Alegbra. 
He  give  good  satisfaction,  but  at  his  country's  call 
He  dropped  his  position,  his  Alegbra  and  all. 

"It's  Oh,  I'm  going  to  leave  you,  kind  scholars,"  he 

said — 

For  he  wrote  a  composition  the  last  day  and  read ; 
And  it  brought  many  tears  in  the  eyes  of  the  school, 
To  say  nothing  of    his  sweet-heart  he  was  going  to 

leave  so  soon. 

"I  have  many  recollections  to  take  with  me  away, 

Of  the  merry  transpirations  in  the  school-room  so  gay; 

And  of  all  that's  past  and  gone  I  will  never  regret 

I  went  to  serve  my  country  at  the  first  of  the  outset!" 

He  was  a  good  penman,  and  the  lines  that  he  wrote 
On  that  sad  occasion  was  too  fine  for  me  to  quote, — 
For  I  was  there  and  heard  it,  and  I  ever  will  recall 
It  brought  the  happy  tears  to  the  eyes  of  us  all. 

161 


162 


EZRA    HOUSE 


And  when  he  left,  his  sweetheart  she  fainted  away, 
And  said  she  could  never  forget  the  sad  day 


When  her  lover  so  noble,  and  gallant  and  gay, 
Said  "Fare  you  well,  my  true  love!"  and  went  march* 
ing  away 


EZRA    HOUSE  163 

He  hadn't  gone  for  more  than  two  months 

When  the  sad  news    come — "he  was    in   a    skirmish 

once, 

And  a  cruel  rebel  ball  had  wounded  him  full  sore 
In  the  region  of  the  chin,   through  the  canteen  he 

wore. ' ' 

But  his  health  recruited  up,  and  his  wounds  they  got 

well; 
Bat  while  he  was  in  battle  at  Bull  Run  or  Malvern 

Hill, 

The  news  come  again,  so  sorrowful  to  hear — 
"A  sliver  from  a  bombshell  cut  off  his  right  ear." 

But  he  stuck  to  the  boys,   and  it's   often  he  would 

write, 

That  "he  wasn't  afraid  for  his  country  to  fight." 
But  oh,  had  he  returned  on  a  furlough,  I  believe 
He  would  not,  to-day,  have  such  cause  to  grieve. 

For  in  another  battle — the  name  I  never  heard — 

He    was    guarding   the    wagons    when    an    accident 

occurred, — 

A  comrade,  who  was  under  the  influence  of  drink, 
Shot  him  with  a  musket  through  the  right  cheek,  I 

think. 

But  his  dear  life  was  spared,  but  it  hadn't  been  for 

long 

Till  a  cruel  rebel  colonel  came  riding  along, 
And  struck  him  with  his  sword,  as  many  do  suppose, 
For  his  cap-rim  was  cut  off,  and  also  his  nose. 


164  EZRA    HOUSE 

But  Providence,  who  watches  o'er  the  noble  and  the 

brave, 

Snatched  him  once  more  from  the  jaws  of  the  grave ; 
And  just  a  little  while  before  the  close  of  the  war, 
He  sent  his  picture  home  to  his  girl  away  so  far. 

And  she  fell  into  decline,  and  she  wrote  in  reply, 
"She  had  seen  his  face  again  and  was  ready  to  die"; 
And  she  wanted  him  to  promise,  when  she  was  in  her 

tomb, 
He  would  only  visit  that  by  the  light  of  the  moon. 

But  he  never  returned  at  the  close  of  the  war, 
And  the  boys  that  got  back  said  he  hadn't  the  heart; 
But  he  got  a  position  in  a  powder-mill,  and  said 
He  hoped  to  meet  the  doom  that  his  country  denied. 


"Oh,  Wilhelmina,  Come  Back!" 

PERSONAL — Will  the  young  woman  who  edited  the 
gravy  department  and  corrected  proof  at  our  pie 
foundry  for  two  days  and  then  jumped  the  game  on 
the  evening  that  we  were  to  have  our  clergyman  to 
dine  with  us,  please  come  back,  or  write  to  32  Paik 
Row,  saying  where  she  left  the  crackers  and  cheese? 


Come  back,  Wilhelmina,  and  be  our  little  sunbeam 
once  more.  Come  back  and  cluster  around  our  hearth- 
stone at  so  much  per  cluster. 

If  you  think  best  we  will  quit  having  company  at 
the  house,  especially  people  who  do  not  belong  to  your 
set. 

We  will  also  strive,  oh,  so  hard,  to  make  it  pleasanter 
for  you  in  every  way.  If  we  had  known  four  or  five 

1G5 


166  "OH,   WILHELMINA,  COME  BACK!" 

years  ago  that  children  were  offensive  to  you,  it  would 
have  been  different.  But  it  is  too  late  now.  All  we 
can  do  is  to  shut  them  up  in  a  barn  and  feed  them 
through  a  knot-hole.  If  they  shiiek  loud  enough  to 
give  pain  to  your  throbbing  brow,  let  no  one  know 
and  we  will  overcome  any  false  sentiment  we  may  feel 
towards  them  and  send  them  to  the  Tombs. 

Since  you  went  away  we  can  see  how  wicked  and 
selfish  we  were  and  how  little  we  considered  your 
comfort.  We  miss  your  glad  smile,  also  your  Ten- 
nessee marble  cake  and  your  slat  pie.  We  have 
learned  a  valuable  lesson  since  you  went  away,  and  it 
is  that  the  blame  should  not  have  rested  on  one  alone. 
It  should  have  been  divided  equally,  leaving  me  to 
bear  half  of  it  and  my  wife  the  other  half. 

Where  we  erred  was  in  dividing  up  the  blame  on  the 
basis  of  tenderloin  steak  or  peach  cobbler,  compelling 
you  to  bear  half  of  it  yourself.  That  will  not  work, 
Wilhelmina.  Blame  and  preserves  do  not  divide  on 
the  same  basis.  We  are  now  in  favor  of  what  may  be 
called  a  sliding  scale.  We  think  you  will  like  this 
better. 

We  also  made  a  grave  mistake  in  the  matter  of 
nights  out.  While  young,  I  formed  the  wicked  and 
pernicious  habit  of  having  nights  out  myself.  I 
panted  for  the  night  air  and  wou'.d  go  a  long  distance 
and  stay  out  a  long  time  to  get  enough  of  it  for  a  mess 
and  then  bring  it  home  in  a  paper  bag,  but  I  can  see 
now  that  it  is  time  for  me  to  remain  indoors  and  give 
young  people  like  yourself  a  chance,  Wilhelmina. 

So,  if  I  can  do  anything  evenings  while  you  are  out 
that  will  assist  you,  such  as  stoning  raisins  or  neigh- 
boring windows,  command  me.  I  am  no  cook,  of 


"OH,   WILHELMINA,  COME  BACK!"  167 

course,  but  I  can  peel  apples  or  grind  coffee  or  hold 
your  head  for  you  when  you  need  sympathy.  I  could 
also  soon  learn  to  do  the  plain  cooking,  I  think,  and 
friends  who  come  to  see  us  after  this  have  agreed  to 
bring  their  dinners. 

There  is  no  reason  why  harmony  should  not  be 
restored  among  us  and  the  old  sunlight  come  back  to 
our  loof  tree. 

Another  thing  I  wish  to  write  before  I  close  this 
humiliating  personal.  I  wish  to  take  back  any  harsh 
and  bitter  words  about  your  singing.  I  said  that  you 
sang  like  a  shingle-mill,  but  I  was  mad  when  I  said  it, 
and  I  wronged  you.  I  was  maddened  by  hunger  and 
you  told  me  that  mush  and  milk  was  the  proper  thing 
for  a  brain  worker,  and  you  refused  to  give  me  any 
dope  on  my  dumpling.  Goaded  to  madness  by  this  I 
said  that  you  sang  like  a  shingle-mill,  but  it  was  not 
my  better,  higher  nature  that  spoke.  It  was  my 
grosser  and  more  gastric  nature  that  asserted  itself, 
and  I  now  desire  to  take  it  back.  You  do  not  sing  like 
a  shingle-mill;  at  least  so  much  as  to  mislead  a  prac- 
ticed ear. 

Your  voice  has  more  volume,  and  \vhen  your  upper 
register  is  closed,  is  mellower  than  any  shingle-mill  I 
ever  heard. 

Come  back,  Wilhelmina.     We  need  you  every  hour. 

After  you  went  away  we  tried  to  set  the  bread  as  we 
had  seen  you  do  it,  but  it  was  not  a  success.  The  next 
(by  it  come  off  the  nest  with  a  litter  of  small,  sallow 
i  ;/lls  which  would  easily  resist  the  action  of  acids. 

If  you  cannot  come  back  will  you  please  write  and 
tell  me  how  you  are  getting  along  and  how  you 
contrive  to  insert  air-holes  into  home-made  bread? 


'Twas  but  a  hint  of  Spring 

—for  still 

Sjs^"   The  atmosphere  was  sharp 
and  chill — 

Save    where     the    genial 
sunshine  smote 

The  shoulders  of  my  over- 
coat, 

And  o'er  the  snow  beneath 
my  feet 

Laid  spectral  fences  down 
the  street. 

My  shadow  even  seemed 

to  be 
Elate    with    some    new 

buoyancy, 
And   bowed   and    bobbed 

in  my  advance 
With  trippingest  extravagance, 
And  when  a  bird  sang  out  somewhere, 
It  seemed  to  wheel  with  me,  and  stare. 
168 


A    HINT    OF    SPRING  169 

Above  I  heard  a  rasping  stir — 

And  on  the  roof  the  carpenter 

Was  perched,  and  prodding  rusty  leaves 

From  out  the  choked  and  dripping  eaves — 

And  some  one,  hammering  about, 

Was  taking  all  the  windows  out. 

Old  scraps  of  shingles  fell  before 
The  noisy  mansion's  open  door; 
And  wrangling  children  raked  the  yard, 
And  labored  much,  and  laughed  as  hard 
And  fired  the  burning  trash  I  smelt 
And  sniffed  again — so  good  I  felt! 


"Scurious  -like,"     said    the 

treetoad, 
*'  I've  twittered  fer  rain  all 

day; 

And  I  got  up  soon, 
And  hollered  till  noon — 
But     the     sun     hit     blazed 

away, 
Till  I  jest  clumb  down  in 

a  crawfish -hole 
Weary  at  heart,  and  sick  at  soul! 

"Dozed  away  fer  an  hour, 
And  I  tackled  the  thing  agin; 

And  I  sung,  and  sung, 

Till  I  knowed  my  lung 
Was  jest  about  to  give  in; 

And  then,  thinks  I,  ef  it  don't  rain  now. 

There're  nothin'  in  singin*  anyhow' 

"Once  in  a  while  some  farmer 
Would  come  a  driven'  past' 

And  he'd  hear  my  cry, 

And  stop  and  sigh — 
Till  I  jest  laid  back,  at  last, 
170 


A    TREAT    ODE  171 

And  I  hollered  rain  till  I  thought  my  throat 
Would  bust  wide  open  at  ever*  note! 

"But  I  fetched  her !— O  I  fetched  her  !— 
'Cause  a  little  while  ago, 

As  I  kindo'  set 

With  one  eye  shet, 
And  a-singin'  soft  and  low, 

A  voice  drapped  down  on  my  fevered  brain 

Sayin', — 'Ef  you'll  jest  hush  I'll  rain!'  " 


"Our  Wife" 


HE  story  opens  in 
1877,  when,  on  an 
April  morning,  the 
yellow -haired 

"devil"  arrived  at 
the  office  of  the 
Jack  Creek  Pizcn- 
weed,  at  7  o'clock, 
and  found  the  editor 
in.  It  was  so  un- 
usual to  find  the 
editor  in  at  that 
hour  that  the  b  y 
whistled  in  a  l..\v 
contralto  voice,  and 
parsed  on  into  the 
"newsroom,"  leav- 
ing the  gentlemanly,  genial  and  urbane  editor  of  the 
Pizemveed  as  he  had  found  him,  sitting  in  his  foundered 
chair,  with  his  head  immersed  in  a  pile  of  exchanges 
on  the  table  and  his  venerable  Smith  &  Wesson  near 
by,  acting  as  a  paper-weight.  The  gentlemanly, 
genial  and  urbane  editor  of  the  Pizemveed  presented 
the  appearance  of  a  man  engaged  in  sleeping  off  a  long 
and  aggravated  case  of  drunk.  His  hat  was  on  the 

172 


"OUR    WIFE  175 

back  of  his  head,  and  his  features  were  entirely 
obscured  by  the  loose  papers  in  which  they  nestled. 

Later  on,  Elijah  P.  Beckwith,  the  foreman,  came  in, 
and  found  the  following  copy  on  the  hook,  marked 
"Leaded  Editorial,"  and  divided  it  up  into  "takes" 
for  the  yellow-haired  devil  and  himself: 

"In  another  column  of  this  issue  will  be  found, 
among  the  legal  notices,  the  first  publication  of  a  sum- 
mons in  an  action  for  divorce,  in  which  our  wife  is 
plaintiff  and  we  are  made  defendant.  While  gener- 
ally deprecating  the  practice  of  bringing  private 
matters  into  public  through  the  medium  of  the  press, 
we  feel  justified  in  this  instance,  inasmuch  as  the  sum- 
mons sets  forth,  as  a  cause  of  action,  that  we  are,  and 
have  been,  for  the  space  of  ten  years,  a  confirmed 
drunkard  without  hope  of  recovery,  and  totally  unwill- 
ing to  provide  for  and  maintain  our  said  wife. 

"That  we  have  been  given  to  drink,  we  do  not,  at 
this  time,  undertake  to  deny  or  in  any  way  controvert, 
but  that  we  cannot  quit  at  any  time,  we  do  most  ear- 
nestly contend. 

"In  1867,  on  the  4th  day  of  July,  we  married  our 
wife.  It  was  a  joyful  day,  and  earth  had  never  looked 
to  us  so  fair  or  so  desirable  as  a  summer  resort  as  it 
did  that  day.  The  flowers  bloomed,  the  air  was  fresh 
and  exhilarating,  the  little  birds  and  the  hens  poured 
foith  their  respective  lays.  It  was  a  day  long  to  be 
remembered,  and  it  seemed  as  though  we  had  never 
seen  Nature  get  up  and  hump  herself  to  be  so  attract- 
ive as  she  did  on  th;  special  morning — the  morning 
of  all  mornings — the  morning  on  which  we  married 
<3i:r  wiff . 

''Litt  e  did  we  then  dream  that  after  ten  years  of, 


174  "OUR  WIFE" 

varying  fortune  we  would  to-day  give  utterance  to  this 
editorial,  or  that  the  steam  power-press  of  the  Pizen- 
iveed  would  squat  this  legal  notice  for  divorce,  a  vinculo 
ft  thoro,  into  the  virgin  page  of  our  paper.  But  such 
is  the  case.  Our  wife  has  abandoned  us  to  our  fate, 
and  has  seen  fit  to  publish  the  notice  in  what  we 
believe  to  be  the  spiciest  paper  published  west  of  the 
Missouri  River.  It  was  not  necessary  that  the  notice 
should  be  published.  We  were  ready  at  any  time  to 
admit  service,  provided  that  plaintiff  would  serve  it 
while  we  were  sober.  We  cannot  agree  to  remain 
sober  after  ten  o'clock  a.  m.  in  order  to  give  people  a 
chance  to  serve  notices  on  us.  But  in  this  case  plaintiff 
knew  the  value  of  advertising,  and  she  selected  a  paper 
that  goes  to  the  better  classes  all  over  the  Union. 
When  our  wife  does  anything  she  does  it  right. 

"For  ten  years  our  wife  and  we  have  trudged  along 
together.  It  has  been  a  record  of  errors  and  failures 
on  our  part ;  a  record  of  heroic  devotion  and  forbear- 
ance on  the  part  of  our  wife.  It  is  over  now,  and  with 
nothing  to  remember  that  is  not  soaked  full  of  bitter- 
ness and  wrapped  up  in  red  flannel  remorse,  we  go 
forth  to-day  and  herald  our  shame  by  publishing  to  the 
world  the  fact,  that  as  husband,  we  are  a  depressing 
failure,  while  as  a  red-eyed  and  a  rum-soaked  ruin  and 
all-around  drunkard,  we  are  a  tropical  triumph.  We 
print  this  without  egotism,  and  we  point  to  it  abso- 
lutely without  vain  glory. 

"Ah,  why  were  we  made  the  custodian  of  this  fatal 
gift,  while  others  were  denied?  It  was  about  the  only 
talent  we  had,  but  we  have  not  wrapped  it  up  in  a 
napkin.  Sometimes  we  have  put  a  cold,  wet  towel  on 
it,  but  we  have  never  hidden  it  under  a  bushel.  We 


"OUR  WIFE"  175 

have  put  it  out  at  three  per  cent  a  month,  and  it  has 
grown  to  be  a  thirst  that  is  worth  coming  all  the  way 
from  Omaha  to  see.  We  do  not  gloat  over  it.  We  do 
not  say  all  this  to  the  disparagement  of  other  bright, 
young  drinkers,  who  came  here  at  the  same  time,  and 
who  had  equal  advantages  with  us.  We  do  not  wish 
to  speak  lightly  of  those  whose  prospects  for  filling  a 
drunkard's  grave  were  at  one  time  even  brighter  than 
ours.  We  have  simply  sought  to  hold  our  position 
here  in  the  grandest  galaxy  of  extemporaneous  ine- 
briates in  the  wild  and  woolly  West.  We  do  not  wish 
to  vaunt  our  own  prowess,  but  we  say.  without  fear  of 
successful  contradiction,  that  we  have  done  what  we 
could. 

"On  the  fourth  page  of  this  number  will  be  found, 
among  other  announcements,  the  advertisement  of  our 
wife,  who  is  about  to  open  up  the  old  laundry  at  the 
corner  of  Third  and  Cottonwood  streets,  in  the  Briggs 
building.  We  hope  that  our  citizens  will  accord  her  a 
generous  patronage,  not  so  much  on  her  husband's 
account,  but  because  she  is  a  deserving  woman,  and  a 
good  laundress.  We  wish  that  we  could  as  safely 
recommend  every  advertiser  who  patronizes  these 
columns  as  we  can  our  wife. 

"Unkind  critics  will  make  cold  and  unfeeling 
remarks  because  our  wife  has  decided  to  take  in  wash-. 
ing,  and  they  \vill  look  down  on  her,  no  doubt,  but  she 
will  not  mind  it,  for  it  will  be  a  pleasing  relaxation  to 
wash,  after  the  ten  years  of  torch-light  procession  and 
Mardi  Gras  frolic  she  has  had  with  us.  It  is  tiresome, 
of  course,  to  chase  a  pillow  case  up  and  down  the 
wash-board  all  day,  but  it  is  easier  and  pleasanter 


176 


"OUR  WIFE" 


than  it  is  to  run  a  one-horse  Inebriate  Home  for  ten 
years  on  credit. 

"Those  who  have  read  the  Pizenweed  for  the  past 
three  years  will  remember  that  it  has  not  been 
regarded  as  an  outspoken  temperance  organ.  We 
have  never  claimed  that  for  it.  We  have  simply 
claimed  that,  so  far  as  we  are  personally  concerned,  we 
could  take  liquor  or  we  could  let  it  alone.  That  has 
always  been  our  theory.  We  still  make  that  claim. 


J 


Others  have  said  the  same  thing,  but  were  unable  to 
do  as  they  advertised.  We  have  been  taking  it  right 
along,  between  meals  for  ten  years.  We  now  propose, 
and  so  state  in  the  prospectus,  that  we  will  let  it  alone. 
We  leave  the  public  to  judge  whether  or  not  we  can 
do  what  we  claim." 

After  the  foreman  had  set  up  the  above  editorial,  he 
went  in  to  speak  to  the  editor,  but  he  was  still  slum- 
bering. He  shook  him  mildly,  but  he  did  not  wake. 
Then  Elijah  took  him  by  the  collar  and  lifted  him  up 
so  that  he  could  sea  the  editor's  face. 


"OUR  WIFE"  177 

It  was  a  pale,  still  face,  firm  in  its  new  resolution  to 
forever  "let  it  alone."  On  the  temple  and  under  the 
heavy  sweep  of  brown  hair  there  was  a  powder-burned 
spot  and  the  cruel  affidavit  of  the  "Smith  &  Wesson" 
that  our  wife  had  obtained  her  decree. 

The  editor  of  the  Pizenweed  had  demonstrated  that 
he  could  drink  or  he  could  let  it  alone. 


My  .Bachelor  Chum 


O  a  corpulent  man  is  my 

bachelor  chum, 
With  a  neck  apoplectic 

and  thick, 
And  an  abdomen  on  him 

as  big  as  a  drum, 
And   a  fist  big  enough 

for  the  stick ; 

With  a  walk  that  for  grace 
is  clear  out  of  the 
case, 
And  a  wobble  uncertain 

— as  though 
His    little*  bow-legs    had 

forgotten  the  pace 
That  in   youth  used   to 
favor  him  so. 

He  is  forty,  at  least;    and 
the  top  of  his  head 
Is  a  bald  and  a  glittering  thing; 
And  his  nose  and  his  two  chubby  cheeks  are  as  red 

As  three  rival  roses  in  spring. 
His  mouth  is  a  grin  with  the  corners  tucked  in 

And  his  laugh  is  so  breezy  and  bright 
That  it  ripples  his  features  and  dimples  his  chin 
With  a  billowy  look  of  delight. 
178 


MY    BACHELOR    CHUM  179 

He  is  fond  of  declaring  he  "don't  care  a  straw" — 

That  "the  ills  of  a  bachelor's  life 
Are  blisses  compared  with  a  mother-in-law, 

And  a  boarding-schcol  miss  for  a  wife!" 
So  he  smokes,  and  he  diinks,  and  he  jokes  and  he 
winks, 

And  he  dines,  and  he  wines  all  alone, 
With  a  thumb  ever  ready  to  snap  us  he  thinks 

Of  the  comforts  he  never  has  known. 

But  up  in  his  den — (Ah,  my  bachelor  chum!) 

I  have  sat  with  him  there  in  the  gloom, 
When  the  laugh  of  his  lips  died  away  to  become 

But  a  phantom  of  mirth  in  the  room! 
And  to  look  on  him  there  you  would  love  him,  for  all 

His  ridiculous  ways,  and  be  dumb 
As  the  little  girl-face  that  smiles  down  from  the  wall 

On  the  tears  of  my  bachelor  chum. 


The   Philanthropical   Jay 

It  had  been  ten  long  years  since  I  last  met  Jay 
Gould  until  I  called  upon  him  yesterday  to  renew  vhe 
acquaintance  and  discuss  the  happy  past.  Ten  years 
of  patient  toil  and  earnest  endeavor  on  my  part,  ten 
years  of  philanthropy  on  his,  have  been  filed  away  in 
the  grim  and  greedy  heretofore.  Both  of  us  have 
changed  in  that  time,  though  Jay  has  changed  mure 
than  I  have.  Perhaps  that  is  because  he  has  been 
thrown  more  in  contact  with  change  than  I  have. 

Still,  I  had  changed  a  good  deal  in  those  years,  for 
when  I  called  at  Irvington  yesterday  Mr.  Gould  did 
not  remember  me.  Neither  did  the  watchful  but 
overestimated  dog  in  the  front  yard.  Mr.  Gould  lives 
in  comfort,  in  a  cheery  horn. ,  surrounded  by  hired  help 
and  a  barbed-wire  fence. 

By  wearing  ready-made  clothes,  instead  of  having 
his  clothing  made  especially  for  himself,  he  has  been 
enabled  to  amass  a  good  many  millions  of  dollars  with 
which  he  is  enabled  to  buy  things. 

Carefully  concealing  the  fact  that  I  had  any  business 
relations  with  the  press,  I  gave  my  card  to  the  person, 
who  does  chores  for  Mr.  Gould,  and,  apologizing  for 
not  having  dropped  in  before,  I  took  a  seat  in  the 
spare  room  to  wait  for  the  great  railroad  magnate. 

Mr.  Gould  entered  the  room  with  a  low,  stealthy 
180 


THE    PHILANTHROPiCAL    JAY 


181 


tread,  and  looked  me  over  in  a  cursory  way  and  yet 
with  the  air  of  a  connoisseur. 

"I  believe  that  I  have  never  had  the  pleasure  of 
meeting  you  before,  sir,"  said  the  great  railroad  swal- 
lovver  and  amateur  Philanthropist  with  a  tinge  of  rail- 
road irony. 

"Yes,   sir,   we  met  some  ten    years  ago,"   said   I, 


lightly  running  my  fingers  over  the  keys  of  the  piano 
in  order  to  show  him  that  I  was  accustomed  to  the 
sight  of  a  piano.  "I  was  then  working  in  the  rolling 
mill  at  Laramie  City,  Wyo.,  and  you  came  to  visit  the 
mill,  which  was  then  operated  by  the  Union  Pacific 
Railroad  Company.  You  do  not  remember  me  because 
I  have  purchased  a  different  pair  of  trousers  since  I 
saw  you,  and  the  cane  which  I  wear  this  season  changes 


182 


THE    PHILANTHROPICAL    JAY 


my  whole  appearance  also.     I   remember  you,  how- 
ever,  very  much." 

"Well,  if  we  grant  all  that,  Mr.  Nye,  will  you  excuse 
me  for  asking  you  to  what  I  am  indebted  for  this  call?" 


"Well,  Mr.  Gould,"  said  I,  rising  to  my  full  height 
and  putting  my  soft  hat  on  the  brow  of  the  Venus  de 
Milo,  after  which  I  seated  myself  opposite  him  in  a 
degage  Western  way,  "you  are  indebted  to  me  for  this 


THE    PHILANTHROPICAL    JAY  183 

call.  That's  what  you're  indebted  to.  But  we  will  let 
that  pass.  We  are  not  heie  to  talk  about  indebted- 
ness, Jay.  If  you  are  busy  you  needn't  return  this 
call  till  next  winter.  But  I  am  here  just  to  converse 
in  a  quiet  way,  as  between  man  and  man;  to  talk  over 
the  past,  to  ask  you  how  your  conduct  is  and  to  inquire 
if  I  can  do  you  any  good  in  any  way  whatever.  This 
is  no  time  to  speak  pieces  and  ask  in  a  grammatical 
way,  'To  what  you  are  indebted  for  this  call.'  My 
main  object  in  coming  up  here  was  to  take  you  by  the 
hand  and  ask  you  how  your  memory  is  this  spring? 
Judging  from  what  I  could  hear,  I  was  led  to  believe 
that  it  was  a  little  inclined  to  be  sluggish  and  atrophied 
days  and  to  keep  you  awake  nights.  Is  that  so,  Jay?" 

"No,  sir;  that  is  not  so." 

"Very  well,  then  I  have  been  misled  by  the  reports 
in  the  papers,  and  I  am  glad  it  is  all  a  mistake.  Now 
one  thing  more  before  I  go.  Did  it  ever  occur  to  you 
that  while  you  and  your  family  are  all  out  in  your 
yacht  together  some  day,  a  sudden  squall,  a  quick  lurch 
of  the  lee  scuppers,  a  tremulous  movement  of  the  main 
hi  ace,  a  shudder  of  the  spring  boom  might  occur  and 
all  be  over?" 

"Yes,  sir.  I  have  often  thought  of  it,  and  of  course 
such  a  thing  might  happen  at  any  time;  but  you  forget 
i  hat  while  we  are  out  on  the  broad  and  boundless  ocean 
\ve  enjoy  ourselves.  We  are  free.  People  with 
morbid  curiosity  cannot  come  and  call  on  us.  We 
cann..t  get  the  daily  newspapers,  and  we  do  not  have 
to  meet  low,  vulgar  people  who  pay  their  debts  and 
perspire. " 

"Of  course,  that  is  one  view  to  take  of  it;  but  that  is 
only  a  selfish  view.  Supposing  that  you  have  made 


J84  THE    PHILANTHROPICAL    JAY 

no  provision  for  the  future  in  case  of  accident,  would 
it  not  be  well  for  you  to  name  some  one  outside  of 
you*-  own  family  to  take  up  this  great  burden  which  is 
now  weighing  you  down — this  money  which  you  say 
yourself  has  made  a  slave  of  you — and  look  out  for  it? 
Have  you  ever  considered  this  matter  seriously  and 
settled  upon  a  good  man  who  would  be  willing  to  water 
your  stock  for  you,  and  so  conduct  your  affairs  that 
nobody  would  get  any  benefit  from  your  vast  accumu- 
lations, and  in  every  way  carry  out  the  policy  which 
you  have  inaugurated? 

"If  you  have  not  thoroughly  considered  this  matter 
I  wish  that  you  would  do  so  at  an  early  date.  I  have 
in  my  mind's  eye  just  such  a  man  as  you  need.  His 
shoulders  are  well  fitted  for  a  burden  of  this  kind,  and 
he  would  pick  it  up  cheerfully  any  time  you  see  fit  to 
lay  it  down.  I  will  give  you  his  address." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Mr.  Gould,  as  the  thermometer 
in  the  next  room  suddenly  froze  up  and  burst  with  a 
loud  report.  "And  now,  if  you  will  excuse  me  from 
offsetting  my  time,  which  is  worth  $500  a  minute, 
against  yours,  which  I  judge  to  be  worth  about  $i  per 
week,  I  will  bid  you  good  morning." 

He  then  held  the  door  open  for  me,  and  shortly 
after  that  I  came  away.  There  were  three  reasons 
why  I  did  not  remain,  but  the  principal  reason  was  that 
I  did  not  think  he  wanted  me  to  do  so. 

And  so  I  came  away  and  left  him.  There  was  little 
else  that  I  could  say  after  that. 

It  is  not  the  first  time  that  a  Western  man  has  been 
treated  with  consideration  in  his  own  section,  only  to 
be  frowned  upon  and  frozen  when  he  meets  the  same 
man  in  New  York. 


THE    PHILANTHROPICAL    JAY  185 

Mr.  Gould  is  below  the  medium  height,  and  is  likely 
to  remain  so  through  life.  His  countenance  wears  a 
crafty  expression,  and  yet  he  allowed  himself  to  be 
April-fooled  by  a  genial  little  party  of  gentlemen  from 
Boston,  who  salted  the  Central  Branch  of  the  Union 
Pacific  Railroad  by  holding  back  all  the  freight  for 
two  weeks  in  order  to  have  it  on  the  road  while  Jay 
Was  examining  the  property. 

Jay  Gould  would  attract  very  little  attention  here  on 
the  streets,  but  he  would  certainly  be  looked  upon  with 
suspicion  in  Paradise.  A  man  who  would  fail  to 
remember  that  he  had  $7,000,000  that  belonged  to  the 
Erie  road,  but  who  does  not  forget  to  remember  when- 
ever he  paid  his  own  hotel  bills  at  Washington,  is  the 
kind  of  man  who  would  pull  up  and  pawn  the  pave- 
ments of  Paradise  within  thirty  days  after  he  got  there. 

After  looking  over  the  above  statement  carefully,  I 
feel  called  upon,  in  justice  to  myself,  to  state  that 
Dr.  Burchard  did  not  assist  me  in  constructing  the  last 
sentence. 

For  those  boys  who  wish  to  emulate  the  example  of 
Jay  Gould,  the  example  of  Jay  Gould  is  a  good  exam- 
ple for  them  to  emulate. 

If  any  little  boy  in  New  York  on  this  beautiful  Sab- 
bath morning  desires  to  jeopardize  his  immortal  soul 
in  order  to  be  beyond  the  reach  of  want,  and  ride 
gayly  over  the  sunlit  billows  where  the  cruel  fangs  of 
the  Excise  law  cannot  reach  him,  let  him  cultivate  a 
lop-sided  memory,  swap  friends  for  funds  and  wise 
counsel  for  crooked  consols. 

If  I  had  thought  of  all  this  as  I  came  down  the  front 
steps  at  Irvington  the  other  day,  I  would  have  said  it 
to  Mr.  Gould;  but  I  did  not  think  of  it  until  I  got 


186 


THE    PHILANTHROPICAL   JAY 


home.     A  man's  best  thoughts  frequently  come  to  him 
too  late  for  publication. 

But  the  name  of  Jay  Gould  will  not  go  down  to 
future  generations  linked  with  those  of  Howard  and 
Wilberforce.  It  will  not  go  very  far  anyway.  In  this 


age  of  millionaires,  a  millionaire  more  or  less  does  not 
count  very  much,  and  only  the  good  millionaires  who 
baptize  and  beautify  their  wealth  in  the  eternal  sun- 
light of  unselfishness  will  have  any  claim  on  immor- 
tality. 


THE    PHILANTHROPICAL    JAY  187 

In  this  period  of  progress  and  high-grade  civiliza- 
tion, when  Satan  takes  humanity  up  to  the  top  of  a 
high  mountain  and  shows  his  railroads  and  his  kero- 
sene oil  and  his  distilleries  and  his  coffers  filled  with 
pure  leaf  lard,  and  says:  "All  this  will  I  give  for  a 
seat  in  the  Senate,"  a  common  millionaire  with  no 
originality  of  design  does  not  excite  any  more  curiosity 
on  Broadway  than  a  young  man  who  is  led  about  by  a 
little  ecru  dog. 

I  do  not  wish  to  crush  capital  "with  labor,  or  to  fur- 
ther intensify  the  feeling  which  already  exists  between 
the  two,  for  I  am  a  land-holder  and  taxpayer  myself, 
but  I  say  that  the  man  who  never  mixes  up  with  the 
common  people  unless  he  is  summoned  to  explain 
something  and  shake  the  moths  out  of  his  memory  will 
some  day,  when  the  grass  grows  green  over  his  own 
grave,  find  himself  confronted  by  the  same  kind  of  a 
memory  on  the  part  of  mankind. 

I  do  not  say  all  this  because  I  was  treated  in  an  off- 
hand manner  by  Mr.  Gould,  but  because  I  think  it 
ought  to  be  said. 

As  I  said  before,  Jay  Gould  is  considerably  below 
the  medium  height,  and  I  am  not  going  to  take  it 
back. 

He  is  a  man  who  will  some  day  sit  out  on  the  corner 
of  a  new-laid  planet  with  his  little  pink  railroad  maps 
on  his  knees  and  ask,  "Where  am  I?"  and  the  echoes 
from  every  musty  corner  of  miasmatic  oblivion  will 
take  up  the  question  and  refer  it  to  the  judiciary  com- 
mittee; but  it  will  curl  up  and  die  like  the  minority 
report  against  a  big  railroad  land  grant. 


HEN  snow  is  here,  and  the 

trees  look  weird, 
And  the    knuckled    twigs 
are  gloved  with  frost; 
When  the  breath  congeals  in 

the  drover's  beard, 
And   the  old    pathway  to 
the  barn  is  lost: 


Whed  the  rooster's  crow  is  sad  to  hear, 

And  the  stamp  of  the  stabled  horse  is  vain, 

And  the  tone  of  the  cow-bell  grieves  the  ear — 
O  then  is  the  time  for  a  brave  refrain! 

188 


"A  BRAVE  REFRAIN"  189 

When  the  gears  hang  stiff  on  the  harness-peg, 

And  the  tallow  gleams  in  frozen  streaks: 
And  the  old  hen  stands  on  a  lonesome  leg, 

And  the  pump  sounds  hoarse  and  the  handle  squeaks; 
When  the  woodpile  lies  in  a  shrouded  heap, 

And  the  frost  is  scratched  from  the  window-pane. 
And  anxious  eyes  from  the  inside  peep — 

O  then  is  the  time  for  a  brave  refrain ! 

When  the  ax-helve  warms  at  the  chimney-jamb! 

And  hob-nailed  boots  on  the  hearth  below, 
And  the  house  cat  curls  in  a  slumber  calm, 

And  the  eight-day  clock  ticks  loud  and  slow; 
When  the  harsh  broom-handle  jabs  the  ceil 

'Neath  the  kitchen-loft,  and  the  drowsy  brain 
Sniffs  the  breath  of  the  morning  meal — 

O  then  is  the  time  for  a  brave  refrain ! 

'ENVOI. 

When  the  skillet  seethes,  and  a  blubbering  hot 
Tilts  the  lid  of  the  coffee-pot, 

And  the  scent  of  the  buckwheat  cake  grows  plain— 
O  then  is  the  time  for  a  brave  refrain ! 


A   Blasted   Snore 

Sleep,  under  favorable  circumstances,  is  a  great 
boon  Sleep,  if  natural  and  undisturbed,  is  surely  as 
useful  as  any  other  scientific  discovery.  Sleep,  whether 
administered  at  home  or  abroad,  under  the  soporific 
influences  of  an  under-paid  preacher  or  the  unyielding 
wooden  cellar  door  that  is  used  as  a  blanket  in  the 
sleeping  car,  is  a  harmless  dissipation  and  a  cheerful 
relaxation 

Let  me  study  a  man  for  the  first  hour  after  he  has 
wakened  and  I  will  judge  him  more  correctly  than  I 
would  to  watch  him  all  winter  in  the  Legislature.  We 
think  we  are  pretty  well  acquainted  with  our  friends, 
but  we  are  not  thoroughly  conversant  with  their 
peculiarities  until  we  have  seen  them  wake  up  in  the 
morning. 

I  have  often  looked  at  the  men  I  meet  and  thought 
what  a  shock  it  must  be  to  the  wives  of  some  of  them 
to  wake  up  and  see  their  husbands  before  they  have 
had  time  to  prepare,  and  while  their  minds  are  still 
chaotic. 

The  first  glimpse  of  a  large,  fat  man,  whose  brain 
has  drooped  down  behind  his  ears,  and  whose  wheezy 
breath  wanders  around  through  the  catacombs  of  his 
head  and  then  emerges  from  his  nostrils  with  a  shrill 
snort  like  the  yelp  of  the  damned,  must  be  a  charming 
picture  for  the  eye  of  a  delicate  and  beautiful  second 
wife:  one  who  loves  to  look  on  green  meadows  and 

190 


A    BLASTED   SNORE  191 

glorious  landscapes ;  one  who  has  always  wakened  with 
a  song  and  a  ripple  of  laughter  that  fell  on  her 
father's  heart  like  shower  of  sunshine  in  the  somber 
green  of  the  valley. 

It  is  a  pet  theory  of  mine  that  to  be  pleasantly  wak- 
ened is  half  the  battle  for  the  day.  If  we  could  be 
wakened  by  the  refrain  of  a  joyous  song,  instead  of 
having  our  front  teeth  knocked  out  by  one  of  those 
patent  pillow-sham  holders  that  sit  up  on  their  hind 
feet  at  the  head  of  the  bed,  until  we  dream  that  we  are 
just  about  to  enter  Paradise  and  have  just  passed  our 
competitive  examination,  and  which  then  swoop  down 
and  mash  us  across  the  bridge  of  the  nose,  there  would 
be  less  insanity  in  our  land  and  death  would  be 
regarded  more  in  the  light  of  a  calamity. 

When  you  waken  a  child  do  it  in  a  pleasant  way. 
Do  not  take  him  by  the  ear  and  pull  him  out  of  bed. 
It  is  disagreeable  for  the  child,  and  injures  the  gen- 
eral tout  ensemble  of  the  ear.  Where  children  go  to 
sleep  with  tears  on  their  cheeks  and  are  wakened  by 
the  yowl  of  dyspeptic  parents,  they  have  a  pretty 
good  excuse  for  crime  in  after  years.  If  I  sat  on  the 
bench  in  such  cases  I  would  mitigate  the  sentence. 

It  is  a  genuine  pleasure  for  me  to  wake  up  a  good- 
natured  child  in  a  good-natured  way.  Surely  it  is 
better  from  those  dimpled  lids  to  chase  the  sleep  with 
a  caress  than  to  knock  out  slumber  with  a  harsh  word 
and  a  bed  slat. 

No  one  should  be  suddenly  wakened  from  a  sound 
sleep.  A  sudden  awaking  le verses  the  magnetic  cur- 
rents, and  makes  the  hair  pull,  to  borrow  an  expres- 
sion from  Dante.  The  awaking  should  be  natural, 
gradual,  and  deliberate. 


192  A    BLASTED    SNORE 

A  sad  thing  occurred  last  summer  on  an  Omaha 
train.  It  was  a  very  warm  day,  and  in  the  smoking 
car  a  fat  man,  with  a  magenta  fringe  of  whiskers  over 
his  Adam's  apple,  and  a  light,  ecru  lambrequin  of  real 
camel's  hair  around  the  suburbs  of  his  head,  might 
have  been  discovered. 

He  could  have  opened  his  mouth  wider,  perhaps, 
but  not  without  injuring  the  mainspring  of  his  neck 
and  turning  his  epiglottis  out  of  doors. 

He  was  asleep. 

He  was  not  only  slumbering,  but  he  was  putting 
the  earnestness  and  passionate  devotion  of  his  whole 
being  into  it.  His  shiny,  oilcloth  grip,  with  the 
roguish  tip  of  a  discarded  collar  just  peeping  out  at  the 
side,  was  up  in  the  iron  wall-pocket  of  the  car.  He 
^Iso  had,  in  the  seat  with  him,  a  market  basket  full  of 
misfit  lunch  and  a  two-bushel  bag  containing  extra 
apparel.  On  the  floor  he  had  a  crock  of  butter  with  a 
copy  of  the  Punkville  Palladium  and  Stock  Grower' & 
Guardian  over  the  top. 

He  slumbered  on  in  a  rambling  sort  of  way,  snoring 
all  the  time  in  monosyllables,  except  when  he  errone- 
ously swallowed  his  tonsils,  and  then  he  would  strug- 
gle awhile  and  get  black  in  the  face,  while  the 
passengers  vainly  hoped  that  he  had  strangled. 

While  he  was  thus  slumbering,  with  all  the  eloquence 
and  enthusiasm  of  a  man  in  the  full  meridian  of  life, 
the  train  stopped  with  a  lurch,  and  the  brakeman 
touched  his  shoulder. 

"Here's  your  town,"  he  said.  "We  only  stop  a 
minute.  You'll  have  to  hustle." 

The  man,  who  had  been  far  away,  wrestling  with 
Morpheus,  had  removed  his  hat,  coat,  and  boots,  and 


A   BLASTED   SNORE 


193 


when  he  awoke  his  feet  absolutely  refused  to  go  back 
into  the  same  quarters. 

At    first    he    looked    around    reproachfully  at    the 
people  in  the  car.     Then  he  reached  up  and  got  his 


oilcloth  grip  from  the  bracket.  The  bag  was  tied 
together  with  a  string,  and  as  he  took  it  down  the 
string  untied.  Then  we  all  discovered  that  this  man 
had  been  on  the  road  for  a  long  time,  with  no  object, 


194  A    BLASTED    SNORfc 

apparently,  except  to  evade  laundries.  All  kinds  of 
articles  fell  out  in  the  aisle.  I  remember  seeing  a 
chest-protector  and  a  linen  coat,  a  slab  of  seal-brown 
gingerbread  and  a  pair  of  stoga  boots,  a  hairbrush  and 
a  bologna  sausage,  a  plug  of  tobacco  and  a  porous 
plaster. 

He  gathered  up  what  he  could  in  both  arms,  made 
two  trips  to  the  door  and  threw  out  all  he  could,  tried 
again  to  put  his  number  eleven  feet  into  his  number 
nine  boots,  gave  it  up,  and  socked  himself  out  of  the 
car  as  it  began  to  move,  while  the  brakeman  bom- 
barded him  through  the  window  for  two  miles  with 
personal  property,  groceries,  dry-goods,  boots  and 
shoes,  gents'  furnishing  goods,  hardward,  notions, 
bric-a-brac,  red  herrings,  clothing,  doughnuts,  vinegar 
bitters,  and  facetious  remarks. 

Then  he  picked  up  the  retired  snorer's  railroad 
check  from  the  seat,  and  I  heard  him  say:  "Why,  dog 
on  it,  that  wasn't  his  town  after  all." 


Good-bye  er  Howdy-do 


Say  good-bye  er  howdy-do — 
What's  the  odds  betwixt  the  two? 
Comin' — goin' — every  day 
Best  friends  first  to  go  away — 
Grasp  of  hands  you  druther  hold 
Than  their  weight  in  solid  gold, 
Slips  their  grip  while  greetin*  you. 
Say  good-bye  er  howdy-do? 
195 


196  6OOD-BYE    ER    HOWDY-DO 

Howdy-do,  and  then,  good-bye — 
Mixes  jest  like  laugh  and  cry; 
Deaths  and  births,  and  worst  and  best 
Tangled  their  contrariest; 
Ev'ry  jinglin'  weddin'-bell 
Skeerin'  up  some  funeral  knell. — 
Here's  my  song,  and  there's  your  sigh: 
Howdy-do,  and  then,  good-bye! 

Say  good-bye  er  howdy-do — 
Jest  the  same  to  me  and  you; 
'Taint  worth  while  to  make  no  fuss, 
'Cause  the  job's  put  up  on  us! 
Some  one's  runnin'  this  concern 
That's  got  nothin'  else  to  learn — 
If  h"'.«  willin',  we'll  pull  through. 
Say  good-bye  or  howdy-do! 


The  following  constitute  the  items  of  great  interest 
occurring  on  the  East  Side  among  the  colored  people 
of  Blue  Ruin : 

Montmorency  Tousley  of  Pizen  Ivy  avenue  cut  his 
foot  badly  last  week  while  chopping  wood  for  a  party 
on  Willow  street.  He  has  been  warned  time  and 
again  not  to  chop  wood  when  the  sign  was  not  right, 
but  he  would  not  listen  to  his  friends.  He  not  only 
cut  off  enough  of  his  foot  to  weigh  three  or  four 
pounds,  but  completely  gutted  the  coffee  sack  in  which 
his  foot  was  done  up  at  the  time.  It  will  be  some 
time  before  he  can  radiate  around  among  the  boys  on 
Pizen  avenue  again. 

Plum  Beasley's  house  caught  on  fire  last  Tuesday 
night.  He  reckons  it  was  caused  by  a  defective  flue, 
for  the  fire  caught  in  the  north  wing.  This  is  one  of 
Plum's  bon  mots,  however.  He  tries  to  make  light 
of  it,  but  the  wood  he  has  been  using  all  winter  was 

197 


198  SOCIETY  GURGS  FROM  SANDY  MUSH 

white  bircli,  and  when  he  got  a  big  dose  of  hickory  at 
the  same  place  last  week  it  was  so  dark  that  he  didn't 
notice  the  difference,  and  before  he  knew  it  he  had  a 
bigger  fire  than  he  had  allowed.  In  the  midst  of  a 
pleasant  flow  of  conversation  gas  collected  in  the  wood 
and  caused  an  explosion  which  threw  a  passel  of  live 
coals  on  the  bed.  The  house  was  soon  a  solid  mass  of 
flame.  Mr.  Beasley  is  still  short  two  children. 

Mr.  Granulation  Hicks,  of  Boston,  Mass.,  who  has 
won  deserved  distinction  in  advancing  the  interests  of 
Sir  George  Pullman,  of  Chicago,  is  here  visiting  his 
parents,  who  reside  on  Upper  Hominy.  We  are  glad 
to  see  Mr.  Hicks  and  hope  he  may  live  long  to  visit 
Blue  Ruin  and  propitiate  up  and  down  our  streets. 

Miss  Roseola  Cardiman  has  just  been  the  recipient 
of  a  beautiful  pair  of  chaste  ear-bobs  from  her  brother, 
who  is  a  night  watchman  in  a  jewelry  store  run  by  a 
man  named  Tiffany  in  New  York.  Roseola  claims 
that  Tiffany  makes  a  right  smart  of  her  brother,  and 
sets  a  heap  by  him. 

Whooping  cough  and  horse  distemper  are  again 
making  feaiful  havoc  among  the  better  classes  at  the 
foot  of  Pizen  Ivy  avenue. 

We  are  pained  to  learn  that  the  free  reading  room, 
established  over  Amalgamation  Brown's  store,  has 
been  closed  up  by  the  police.  Blue  Ruin  has  clamored 
for  a  free  temperance  reading  room  and  brain  retort 
for  ten  years,  and  now  a  ruction  between  two  of  our 
best  known  citizens,  over  the  relative  merits  of  a  nat- 
ural pair  and  a  doctored  flush,  has  called  down  the 
vengeance  of  the  authorities,  and  shut  up  what  was  a 
credit  to  the  place  and  a  quiet  resort,  where  young 
men  could  come  night  after  night  and  kind  of  compli- 


SOCIETY  GURGS  FROM  SANDY  MUSH  199 

cate  themselves  at.  There  are  two  or  three  men  in 
this  place  that  will  bully  or  bust  everything  they  can 
get  into,  and  they  have  perforated  more  outrages  on 
Blue  Ruin  than  we  are  entitled  to  put  up  with. 

There  was  a  successful  doings  at  the  creek  last  Sab- 
bath, during  which  baptism  was  administered  to  four 
grown  people  and  a  dude  from  Sandy  Mush.  The 
pastor  thinks  it  will  take  first-rate,  though  it  is  still  too 
soon  to  tell. 

Surrender  Adams  got  a  letter  last  Friday  from  his 
son  Gladstone,  who  filed  on  a  homestead  near  Porcu- 
pine, Dak.,  two  years  ago.  He  says  they  have  had 
another  of  those  unprecedented  winters  there  for 
which  Dakota  is  so  justly  celebrated.  He  thinks  this 
one  has  been  even  more  so  that  any  of  the  others.  He 
wishes  he  was  back  here  at  Blue  Ruin,  where  a  man 
can  go  out  doors  for  half  an  hour  without  getting 
ostracized  by  the  elements.  He  says  they  brag  a  good 
deal  on  their  ozone  there,  but  he  allows  that  it  can  be 
overdone.  He  states  that  when  the  ozone  in  Dakota 
is  feeling  pretty  well  and  humping  itself  and  curling 
up  sheet-iron  roofs  and  blowing  trains  of  the  track,  a 
man  has  to  tie  a  clothes-line  to  himself,  with  the  other 
end  fastened  to  the  door  knob,  before  it  is  safe  to  visit 
his  own  hen-house.  He  says  that  his  nearest  neigh- 
bor is  seventeen  miles  away,  and  a  man  might  as  well 
buy  his  own  chickens  as  to  fool  his  money  away  on 
seventeen  miles  of  clothes-line. 

It  is  a  first-rate  letter,  and  the  old  man  wonders  who 
Gladstone  got  to  write  it  for  him. 

The  valuable  ecru  dog  of  our  distinguished  towns- 
man, Mr.  Piedmont  Babbit,  was  seriously  impaired 
last  Saturday  morning  by  an  east-bound  freight. 


200  SOCIETY  GURGS  FROM  SANDY  MUSH 

He  will  not  wrinkle  up  his  nose  at  another  freight 
train. 

George  Wellington,  of  Hickory,  was  in  town  the 
front  end  of  the  week.  He  has  accepted  a  position  in 
the  livery,  feed  and  sale  stable  at  Sandy  Mush.  Call 
again,  George. 

Gabriel  Brant  met  with  a  sad  mishap  a  few  days 
since  while  crossing  the  French  Broad  river,  by  which 
he  lost  his  leg. 

Any  one  who  may  find  an  extra  leg  below  where  the 
accident  occurred  will  confer  a  favor  on  Mr.  Brant 
by  returning  same  to  No.  06^  Pneumonia  street.  It 
may  be  readily  identified  by  any  one,  as  it  is  made  of 
an  old  pickhandle  and  weighs  four  pounds. 

J.  Quincy  Burns  has  written  a  war  article  for  the 
Century  Magazine,  regarding  a  battle  where  he  was 
at.  In  this  article  he  aims  to  describe  the  sensations 
of  a  man  who  is  ignorant  of  physical  fear  and  yet 
yearns  to  have  the  matter  submitted  to  arbitration. 
He  gives  a  thorough  expose  of  his  efforts  in  trying  to 
find  a  suitable  board  of  arbitration  as  soon  as  he  saw 
that  the  enemy  felt  hostile  and  eager  for  the  fray. 

The  forthcoming  number  of  the  Century  will  be 
eagerly  snapped  up  by  Mr.  Burns'  friends  who  are 
familiar  with  his  pleasing  and  graphic  style  of  writing. 
He  describes  with  wonderful  power  the  sense  of  utter 
exhaustion  which  came  over  him  and  the  feeling  of 
bitter  disappointment  when  he  realized  that  he  was 
too  far  away  to  participate  in  the  battle  and  too 
fatigued  to  make  a  further  search  for  suitable  arbi- 
trators. 


While   Cigarettes   to   Ashes   Turn 

i. 

"He  smokes — and  that's  enough,"  says  Ma — 
"And  cigarettes,  at  that!"  says  Pa. 

"He  must  not  call  again,"  says  she — 
"He  shall  not  call  again!"  says  he. 

They  both  glare  at  me  as  before — 

Then  quit  the  room  and  bang  the  door,-— 

While  I,  their  willful  daughter,  say, 
"I  guess  I'll  love  him,  anyway!" 

II. 

At  twilight,  in  his  room,  alone, 
His  careless  feet  inertly  thrown 

Across  a  chair,  my  fancy  can 

But  worship  this  most  worthless  man.' 

I  dream  what  joy  it  is  to  set 
His  slow  lips  round  a  cigarette, 

With  idle-humored  whiff  and  puff — 
Ah!  this  is  innocent  enough  ! 

To  mark  the  slender  fingers  raise 
The  waxen  match's  dainty  blaze, 

Whose  chastened  light  an  instant  glows 
On  drooping  lids  and  arching  nose, 
201 


HE  SMOKES — AND  THAT'S  ENOUGH,"    SAYS  MA— 


202 


WHILE  CIGARETTES  TO  ASHES  TURN  203 

Then,  in  the  sudden  gloom,  instead, 
A  tiny  ember,  dim  and  red, 

Blooms  languidly  to  ripeness,  then 
Fades  slowly,  and  grows  ripe  again. 

III. 

I  lean  back,  in  my  own  boudoir — 
The  door  is  fast,  the  sash  ajar; 

And  in  the  dark,  I  smiling  stare 
At  one  window  over  there, 

Where  some  one,  smoking,  pinks  the  gloom, 
The  darling  darkness  of  his  room! 

I  push  my  shutters  wider  yet, 
And  lo !  I  light  a  cigarette ; 

And  gleam  for  gleam,  and  glow  for  glow, 
Each  pulse  of  light  a  word  we  know, 

We  talk  of  love  that  still  will  burn 
While  cigarettes  to  ashes  turn. 


Says   He 


"Whatever    the    weather  may 

be,"  says  he — 
"Whatever  the  weather  may 

be- 
lts plaze,  if  ye  will,  an'  I'll  say 

me  say — 
Supposin'  to-day  was  the  win- 

terest  day, 
Wud  the  weather  be  changing 

because  ye  cried, 
Or  the  snow  be  grass  were  ye 

crucified? 
The  best  is  to  make  your  own 

summer,"  says  he, 
"Whatever    the   weather    may 

be,"  says  he — 
"Whatever  the  weather  may 

be!" 

"Whatever  the    weather    may 

be,"  says  he — 
"Whatever  the  weather  may  be, 
Its  the  songs  ye  sing,  an'  the  smiles  ye  wear 
That's  a-makin'  the  sunshine  everywhere; 
An'  the  world  of  gloom  is  a  world  of  glee, 
Wid  the  bird  in  the  bush,  an'  the  bud  in  the  tree, 

304 


SAYS    HE  205 

Whatever  the  weather  may  be,"  says  he— 
"Whatever  the  weather  may  be!" 

"Whatever  the  weather  may  be,"  says  he — 

"Whatever  the  weather  may  be, 
Ye  can  bring  the  spring,  wid  its  green  an'  gold, 
An'  fhe  grass  in  the  grove  where  the  snow  lies  cold, 
An'  ye'll  warm  your  back,  wid  a  smiling  face, 
As  ye  sit  at  your  heart  like  an  owld  fireplace, 
Whatever  the  weather  may  be."  says  he, 

"Whatever  the  weather  ma}  be!" 


Where    the    Roads    Are    Engaged 
in  Forking 

I  am  writing  this  at  an  imitation  hotel  where  the 
roads  fork.  I  will  call  it  the  Fifth  Avenue  Hotel 
because  the  hotel  at  a  railroad  junction  is  generally 
called  the  Fifth  Avenue,  or  the  Gem  City  House,  or 
the  Palace  Hotel.  I  stopped  at  an  inn  some  years 
since  called  the  Palace,  and  I  can  truly  say  that  if  it 
had  ever  been  a  palace  it  was  very  much  run  down 
when  I  visited  it. 

Just  as  the  fond  parent  of  a  white-eyed,  two-legged 
freak  of  nature  loves  to  name  his  mentally-diluted  son 
Napoleon,  and  for  the  same  reason  that  a  prominent 
horse  owner  in  Illinois  last  year  socked  my  name  on  a 
tall,  buckskin-colored  colt  that  did  not  resemble  me, 
intellectually  or  physically,  a  colt  that  did  not  know 
enough  to  go  around  a  barbed-wire  fence,  but  sought 
to  shift  himself  through  it  into  an  untimely  grave,  so 
this  man  has  named  his  sway-backed  wigwam  the 
Fifth  Avenue  Hotel. 

It  is  different  from  the  Fifth  Avenue  in  many  ways. 
In  the  first  place  there  is  not  so  much  travel  and  busi- 
ness in  its  neighborhood.  As  I  said  before,  this  is 
where  two  railroads  fork.  In  fact  that  is  the  leading 
industry  here.  The  growth  of  the  town  is  naturally 
slow,  but  it  is  a  healthy  growth.  There  is  nothing  in 

206 


WHERE  THE  ROADS  APE  ENGAGED  IN  FORKING      20? 

the  nature  of  dangerous  or  wild-cat  speculation  in  the 
advancement  of  this  place,  and  while  there  has  been 
no  noticeable  or  rapid  advance  in  the  principal  busi- 
ness, there  has  been  no  falling  off  at  all  and  these  roads 
are  forking  as  much  to-day  as  they  did  before  the  war, 
while  the  same  three  men  who  were  present  for  the 
first  glad  moment  are  still  here  to  witness  the  opera- 
tion. 

Sometimes  a  train  ts  derailed,  as  the  papers  call  it, 
and  two  or  three  pec  pie  have  to  remain  over  as  we  did 
all  night.  It  is  at  such  a  time  that  the  Fifth  Avenue 
Hotel  is  the  scene  of  great  excitement.  A  large  cod- 
fish, with  a  broad  and  sunny  smile  and  his  bosom  full 
of  rock  salt,  is  tied  in  the  creek  to  freshen  and  fit  him- 
self for  the  responsible  position  of  floor  manager  of  the 
codfish  ball. 

A  pale  chambermaid,  wearing  a  black  jersey  with 
large  pores  in  it  through  which  she  is  gently  percolat- 
ing, now  goes  joyously  up  the  stairs  to  make  the  little 
post-office  lock-box  rooms  look  ten  times  worse  than 
they  ever  did  before.  She  warbles  a  low  refrain  as 
she  nimbly  knocks  loose  the  venerable  dust  of  cen- 
turies and  sets  it  afloat  throughout  the  rooms.  All  is 
bustle  about  the  house. 

Especially  the  chambermaid. 

We  were  put  in  the  guests'  chamber  here.  It  has 
two  atrophied  beds  made  up  of  pains  and  counter- 
panes. 

This  last  remark  conveys  to  the  reader  the  presence 
of  a  light,  joyous  feeling  which  is  wholly  assumed  on 
my  part. 

The  door  of  our  room  is  full  of  holes  where  locks 
have  been  wrenched  off  in  order  to  let  the  coroner  in. 


208 


Last  night  I  could  imagine  that  I  was  in  the  act  of 
meeting,  personally,  the  famous  people  who  have  tried 
to  sleep  here  and  who  moaned  through  the  night  and 
who  died  while  waiting  for  the  dawn. 

I  have  no  doubt  in  the  world  but  there  is  quite  a 
good-sized  delegation  from  this  hotel,  of  guests  who 
hesitated  about  committing  suicide,  because  they 


feared  to  tread  the  red-hot  sidewalks  of  perdition,  but 
who  became  desperate  at  last  and  resolved  to  take 
their  chances,  and  they  have  never  had  any  cause  to 
regret  it. 

We  washed  our  hands  on  doorknob  soap,  wiped  them 
on  a  slippery  elm  court-plaster,  that  had  made  quite  a 
reputation  for  itself  under  the  nom-de-plume  of 


WHERE  THE  ROADS  ARE   ENGAGED  IN  FORKING        54U» 

"Towel,"  tried  to  warm  ourselves  at  a  pocket  inkstand 
stove,  that  gave  out  heat  like  a  dark  lantern  and  had  a 
deformed  elbow  at  the  back  of  it. 

The  chambermaid  is  very  versatile,  and  waits  on  the 
table  while  not  engaged  in  agitating  the  overworked 
mattresses  and  puny  pillows  up-stairs.  In  this  way  she 
imparts  the  odor  of  fried  pork  to  the  pillow-cases  and 
kerosene  to  the  pie. 

She  has  a  wild,  nervous  and  apprehensive  look  in  her 
eye,  as  though  she  feared  that  some  herculean  guest 
might  seize  her  in  his  great  strong  arms  and  bear  her 
away  to  a  justice  of  the  peace  and  marry  her.  She 
certainly  cannot  fully  realize  how  thoroughly  secure 
she  is  from  such  a  calamity.  She  is  just  as  safe  as  she 
was  forty  years  ago,  when  she  promised  her  aged 
mother  that  she  would  never  elope  with  any  one. 

Still,  she  is  sociable  at  times  and  converses  freely 
with  me  at  table,  as  she  leans  over  my  shoulder, 
pensively  brushing  the  crumbs  into  my  lap  with  a 
general  utility  towel,  which  accompanies  her  in  her 
various  rambles  through  the  house,  and  she  asks  what 
we  would  rather  have — "tea  or  eggs?" 

This  afternoon  we  will  pay  our  bill,  in  accordance 
with  a  life-long  custom  of  ours,  and  go  away  to  per- 
meate the  busy  haunts  of  men.  It  will  be  sad  to  tear 
ourselves  away  from  the  Fifth  Avenue  Hotel  at  this 
place;  still,  there  is  no  great  loss  without  some  small 
gain,  and  at  our  next  hotel  we  may  not  have  to  chop 
our  own  wood  and  bring  it  up  stairs  when  we  want  to 
rest.  The  landlord  of  a  hotel  who  goes  away  to  a 
political  meeting  and  leaves  his  guests  to  chop  their 
own  wood,  and  then  charges  them  full  price  for  th« 
rent  of  a  boisterous  and  tempest-tossed  bed,  will  never 


210        WHERE  THE  ROADS  ARE  ENGAGED  IN  FORKING 

endear  himself  to  those  with  whom  he  is  thrown  in 
contact. 

We  leave  at  2 :  30  this  afternoon,  hoping  that  the 
two  railroads  may  continue  to  fork  here  }ust  the  same 
as  though  we  had  remained. 


McFeeters'    Fourth 


It  was  needless  to  say  'twas  a  glorious  day, 
And  to  boast  of  it  all  in  that  spread-eagle  way 
That  our  forefathers  had  since  the  hour  of  the  birth 
Of  this  most  patriotic  republic  on  earth! 
But  'twas  justice,  of  course,  to  admit  that  the  sight 
Of  the  old  Stars-and-Stripes  was  a  thing  of  delight 
In  the  eyes  of  a  fellow,  however  he  tried 
To  look  on  the  day  with  a  dignified  pride 
That  meant  not  to  brook  any  turbulent  glee, 
Or  riotous  flourish  of  loud  jubilee! 

211 


212  M'FEETERS'  FOURTH 

So  argued  McFeeters,  all  grim  and  severe, 

Who  the  long  night  before,  with  a  feeling  of  fear, 

Had  slumbered  but  fitfully,  hearing  the  swish 

Of  the  sky-rocket  over  his  roof,  with  a  wish 

That  the  urchin  who  fired  it  were  fast  to  the  end 

Of  the  sticic  to  forever  and  ever  ascend; 

Or  to  hopelessly  ask  why  the  boy  with  the  horn 

And  its  horrible  havoc  had  ever  been  born! 

Or  to  wish,  in  his  wakefulness,  staring  aghast, 

That  this  Fourth  of  July  were  as  dead  as  the  last ! 

So,  yesterday  morning,  McFeeters  arose, 

With  a  fire  in  his  eyes,  and  a  cold  in  his  nose, 

And  a  gutteral  voice  in  appropriate  key 

With  a  temper  as  gruff  as  a  temper  could  be. 

He  growled  at  the  servant  he  met  on  the  stair, 

Because  he  was  whistling  a  national  air, 

And  he  growled  at  the  maid  on  the  balcony,  who 

Stood  enrapt  with  the  tune  of  "The  Red,  White  and 

Blue" 

That  a  band  was  discoursing  like  mad  in  the  street, 
With  drumsticks  that  banged,  and  with  cymbals  that 

beat. 

And  he  growled  at  his  wife,  as  she  buttoned  his  vest, 
And  applausively  pinned  a  rosette  on  his  breast 
Of  the  national  colors,  and  lured  from  his  purse 
Some  change  for  the  boys — for  firecrackers — or  worse : 
And  she  pointed  with  pride  to  a  soldier  in  blue 
In  a  frame  on  the  wall,  and  the  colors  there,  too ; 
And  he  felt,  as  he  looked  on  the  features,  the  glow 
The  painter  found  there  twenty  long  years  ago, 
And  a  passionate  thrill  in  his  breast,  as  he  felt 
Instinctively  round  for  the  sword  in  his  belt. 


M'FEETERS'  FOURTH  213 

What  was  it  that  hung  like  a  mist  o'er  the  room? — 
The  tumult  without — and  the  music — the  boom 
Of  the  canon — the  blare  of  the  bugle  and  fife? — 
No  matter! — McFeeters  was  kissing  his  wife, 
And  laughing  and  crying  and  waving  his  hat 
Like  a  genuine  soldier,  and  crazy,  at  that! 
—But  it's  needless  to  say  'twas  a  glorious  day, 
And  to  boast  of  it  all  in  that  spread-eagle  way 
That  our  forefathers  have  since  the  hour  of  birth 
Of  this  most  patiiotic  republic  on  earth! 


In   a   Box 


I  saw  them  last  night  in  a  box  at  the 

play- 
Old  age  and  young  youth  side  by  side — 
'You    might    know    by  the    glasses    that 

pointed  that  way 
That  they  were — a  groom  and  a  bride ; 
And  you  might  have  known,  too,  by  the 
face  of  the  groom, 

214 


IN    A    BOX  215 

And  the  tilt  of  his  head,  and  the  grim 
Little  smile  of  his  lip,  he  was  proud  to  presume 
That  we  men  were  all  envying  him. 

Well,  she  was  superb — an  Elaine  in  the  face, 

A  Godiva  in  figure  and  mien, 
With  the  arm  and  the  wrist  of  a  Parian  "Grace," 

And  the  high-lifted  brow  of  a  queen ; 
But  I  thought,  in  the  splendor  of  wealth  and  of  pride, 

And  in  all  her  young  beauty  might  prize, 
I  should  hardly  be  glad  if  she  sat  by  my  side 

With  that  far-away  look  in  her  eyes. 


Seeking  to  Set  the  Public  Right 


WOULD  like  to  make  an  expla- 
nation at  this  time  which  con- 
cerns me,  of  course,  more  than 
any  one  else,  and  yet  it  ought  to 
be  made  in  the  interests  of  gen- 
eral justice,  also.  I  refer  to  a 
recent  article  published  in  a  West- 


ern  paper  and  handsomely  illustrated,  in  which,  among 
others,  I  find  the  foregoing  picture  of  my  residence : 
The  description  which  accompanies  the  cut,  among 
other  things,  goes  on  to  state  as  follows:  "The  struc- 
ture is  elaborate,  massive  and  beautiful.  It  consists  of 
three  stories,  basement  and  attic,  and  covers  a  large 
area  on  the  ground.  It  contains  an  elevator,  electric 
bells,  steam-heating  arrangements,  baths,  hot  and 
cold,  in  every  room,  electric  lights,  laundry,  fire- 
escapes,  etc.  The  grounds  consist  of  at  least  five 
acres,  overlooking  the  river  for  several  miles  up  and 
down,  with  fine  boating  and  a  private  fish-pond  of  two 

216 


SEEKING  TO  SET  THE  PUBLIC  RIGHT  217 

acres  in  extent,  containing  every  known  variety  of 
game  fish.  The  grounds  are  finely  laid  out  in  hand- 
some drives  and  walks,  and  when  finished  the  estab- 
lishment will  be  one  of  the  most  complete  and  beautiful 
in  the  Northwest." 

No  one  realizes  more  fully  than  I  the  great  power  of 
the  press  for  good  or  evil.  Rightly  used  the  news- 
paper can  make  or  unmake  men,  and  wrongly  used  it 
can  be  even  more  sinister.  I  might  say,  knowing  this 
as  I  do,  I  want  to  be  placed  right  before  the  people. 
The  above  is  not  a  correct  illustration  or  description 
of  my  house,  for  several  reasons.  In  the  first  place, 
it  is  larger  and  more  robust  in  appearance,  and  in  the 
second  place  it  has  not  the  same  tout  ensemble  as  my 
residence.  My  house  is  less  obtrusive  and  less  arro- 
gant in  its  demeanor  than  the  foregoing,  and  it  has  no 
elevator  in  it. 

My  house  is  not  the  kind  that  seems  to  crave  an  ele- 
vator. An  elevator  in  my  house  would  lose  money. 
There  is  no  popular  clamor  for  one,  and  if  I  were  to 
put  one  in  I  would  have  to  abolish  the  dining-room. 
It  would  also  interfere  with  the  parlor. 

I  have  learned  recently  that  the  correspondent  who 
came  here  to  write  up  this  matter  visited  the  town 
while  I  was  in  the  South,  and  as  he  could  not  find  me 
he  was  at  the  mercy  of  strangers.  A  young  man  who 
lives  here  and  who  is  just  in  the  heyday  of  life,  glee- 
fully consented  to  show  the  correspondent  my  new 
residence  not  yet  completed.  So  they  went  over  and 
examined  the  new  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes  Hospital, 
which  will  be  completed  in  June  and  which  is,  of 
course,  a  handsome  structure,  but  quite  different  from 
my  house  in  many  particulars. 


218 


SEEKING  TO  SET  THE  PUBLIC  RIGHT 


For  instance,  my  residence  is  of  a  different  school  of 
architecture,  being  rather  on  the  Scandinavian  order, 
while  the  foregoing  has  a  tendency  toward  the  Ironic. 
The  hospital  belongs  to  a  very  recent  school,  as  I  may 
say,  while  my  residence,  in  its  architectural  methods 
and  conception,  goes  back  to  the  time  of  the  mound 
builders,  a  time  when  a  Gothic  hole  in  the  ground  was 


considered  the  magnum  bonuni  and 
the  scrumptuous  thing  in  art.     If  the 

reader  will   go    around   behind    the 

above  building  and  notice  it  care- 
fully on  the  east  side,  he  will  not  discover  a  dried 
coonskin  nailed  to  the  rear  breadths  of  the  wood-shed. 
That  alone  ought  to  convince  an  observing  man  that 
the  house  is  not  mine.  The  coonskin  regardant  will 
always  be  found  emblazoned  on  my  arms,  together 
with  a  blue  Goddess  of  Liberty  and  my  name  in  green 
India  ink. 
Above  I  give  a  rough  sketch  of  my  house.  Of 


SEEKING  TO  SET  THE  PUBLIC  RIGHT  219 

course  I  have  idealized  it  somewhat,  but  only  in  order 
to  catch  the  eye  of  the  keenly  observant  reader.  The 
front  part  of  the  house  runs  back  to  the  time  of  Polypus 
the  First,  while  the  L,  which  does  not  show  in  the 
drawing,  runs  back  as  far  as  the  cistern. 

In  closing,  let  me  say  that  I  am  not  finding  fault 
with  any  one  because  the  above  error  has  crept  into 
the  public  prints,  for  it  is  really  a  pardonable  error, 
after  all.  Neither  do  I  wish  to  be  considered  as  striv- 
ing to  eliminate  my  name  from  the  columns  of  the 
press,  for  no  one  could  be  more  tickled  than  I  am  over 
a  friendly  notice  of  my  arrival  in  town  or  a  timely 
reference  to  my  courteous  bearing  and  youthful 
appearance,  but  I  want  to  see  the  Oliver  Wendell 
Holmes  Hospital  succeed,  and  so  I  come  out  in  this 
way  over  my  own  signature  and  admit  that  the  build- 
ing does  not  belong  to  me  and  that,  so  far  as  I  am  con- 
cerned, the  man  who  files  a  lien  on  it  will  simply 
fritter  away  his  time. 


A  Dose't  of  Blues 


I'  got  no  patience  with  blues  at  all! 

And  I  ust  to  kindo'  talk 
Aginst  'em,  and  claim,  'tel  along  last  fall, 

They  was  none  in  the  fambly  stock; 
But  a  nephew  of  mine,  from  Eelinoy, 

That  visited  us  last  year, 
He  kindo'  convinct  me  different 

While  he  was  a-stayin'  here. 
220 


A  DOSE'T  OF  BLUES  221 

Frum  ever'-which-way  that  blues  is  frum, 

They'd  tackle  him  ever'  ways; 
They'd  come  to  him  in  the  night,  and  come 

On  Sundys,  and  rainy  days; 
They'd  tackle  him  in  corn-plantin'  time, 

And  in  harvest,  an  airly  fall, 
But  a  dose't  of  blues  in  the  wintertime 

He  'lowed  was  the  worst  of  all! 
Said  all  diseases  that  ever  he  had — 

The  mumps,  er  the  rheumatiz — 
Er  ever-other-day  aigger's  bad 

Purt'  nigh  as  anything  is! — 
Er  a  cyarbuncle,  say,  on  the  back  of  his  neck, 

Er  a  fellon  on  his  thumb, — 
But  you  keep  the  blues  away  frum  him, 

And  all  o'  the  rest  could  come! 
And  he'd  moan,  "they's  narry  a  leaf  below! 

Ner  a  spear  o'  grass  in  sight! 
And  the  whole  wood-pile's  clean  under  snow! 

And  the  days  is  dark  as  night! 
And  you  can't  go  out — ner  you  can't  stay  in — 

Lay  down — stand  up — ner  set!" 
And  a  case  o'  reguller  tyfoid  blues 

Would  double  him  jest  clean  shet! 

I  writ  his  parents  a  postal-kyard 

He  could  stay  'tel  spring-time  come; 
And  Aprile  first,  as  I  rickollect, 

Was  the  day  we  shipped  him  home. 
Most  o'  his  relatives,  sence  then, 

Has  either  give  up,  er  quit, 
Er  jest  died  off,  but  I  understand 

He's  the  same  old  color  yit! 


Wanted,  a  Fox 

SLIPPERY  ELMHURST, 
STATEN  ISLAND,   July   18,    1888 


To  THE  EDITOR: 

Dear  Sir:  Could  you  inform  a  constant  reader  of 
your  valuable  paper  where  he  would  be  most  likely  to 
obtain  a  good,  durable,  wild  fox  which  could  be  used 
for  hunting  purposes  on  my  premises?  I  desire  a  fox 
that  is  a  good  roadster,  and  yet  not  too  bloodthirsty. 
If  I  could  secure  one  that  would  not  bite,  it  would 
tickle  me  most  to  death. 

Yon  know,  perhaps,  that  I  am  of  English  origin. 
Some  of  the  best  and  bluest  blood  of  the  oldest  and 
most  decrepit  families  in  England  flows  in  my  veins. 
There  is  no  better  blood  extant.  We  love  the  exhila- 
rating sports  of  our  ancestors,  and  nothing  thrills  us 
through  and  through  like  the  free  chase  'cross  country 
behind  the  fleeing  fox.  Joyously  we  gallop  over  the 
sward  behind  the  yelping  pack,  as  we  clearly  scent 
high,  low,  jack  and  the  game. 

My  ancestors  are  haughty  English  people  from 
Piscataquis  county,  Maine.  For  centuries,  our  rich, 
warm,  red  blood  has  been  mellowed  by  the  elderberry 
wine  and  huckleberry  juice  of  Moosehead  lake;  but 
now  and  then  it  will  assert  itself  and  mantle  in  the 
broad  and  indestructible  cheek  of  our  race.  Ever 
and  anon  in  our  family  you  will  notice  the  slender 

222 


WANTED,  A  FOX 


triangular  chest,  the  broad  and  haughty  sweep  of 
abdomen,  and  the  high,  intellectual  expanse  of  pelvic 
bone,  which  denotes  the  true  Englishman;  proud, 
high-spirited,  soaked  full  of  calm  disdain,  wearing 
checked  pantaloons,  and  a  soft,  flabby  tourist's  hat 
that  has  a  bow  at  both  ends,  so  that  a  man  cannot  get 
too  drunk  to  put  it  on  his  head  wrong. 

I  know  that 
here  is  demo- 
cratic America, 
whereevery 
man  has  to  earn 
his  living  or 
marry  rich, 
p  e  o  p  le  will 
scorn  my  high- 
born love  of  the 
fox  -  chase,  and 
speak  in  a 
slighting  man- 
ner of  my  wild, 
wild  yearn  for 
the  rush  and 
scamper  of  the 
hunt.  By  Jove, 
but  it  is  joy  in- 
deed to  gallop 
over  the  sward  and  the  cover,  and  the  open  land,  the 
meet  and  the  cucumber  vines  of  the  Plebian  farmer, 
to  run  over  the  wife  of  the  peasant  and  tramp  her  low, 
coarse  children  into  the  rich  mould,  to  "sick"  the 
hounds  upon  the  rude  rustic  as  he  paris  greens  his 
potatoes,  to  pry  open  the  jaws  of  the  pack  and  return 


WANTED,    A    FOX 

to  the  open-eyed  peasant  the  quivering  seat  of  his 
pantaloons,  returning  it  to  him  not  because  it  is  lack- 
ing in  its  merit,  but  because  it  is  not  available. 

Ah,  how  the  pulses  thrill  as  we  bound  over  the  lea, 
out  across  the  wold,  anon  skimming  the  outskirts  of 
the  moor  and  going  home  with  a  stellated  fracture  of 
the  dura  mater  through  which  the  gas  is  gently  escap- 
ing. 

Let  others  rave  over  the  dreamy  waltz  and  the  false 
joys  of  the  skating  rink,  but  give  me  the  maddening 
yelp  of  the  pack  in  full  cry  as  it  chases  the  speckled 
two-year-old  of  the  low-born  rustic  across  the  open 
and  into  the  pond. 

Let  others  sing  of  the  zephyrs  that  fan  the  white 
sails  of  their  swift-flying  yacht,  but  give  me  a  wild 
gallop  at  the  tail  of  my  high-priced  hounds  and  six 
weeks  at  the  hospital  with  a  fractured  rib  and  I  am 
proud  and  happy.  All  our  family  are  that  way.  We 
do  not  care  for  industry  for  itself  alone.  We  are  too 
proud  ever  to  become  slaves  to  habits  of  industry. 
We  can  labor  or  we  can  let  it  alone. 

This  shows  our  superiority  as  a  race.  We  have 
been  that  way  for  hundreds  of  years.  We  could  work 
in  order  to  be  sociable,  but  we  would  not  allow  it  to 
sap  the  foundations  of  our  whole  being. 

I  write,  therefore,  to  learn,  if  possible,  where  I  can 
get  a  good  red  or  gray  fox  that  will  come  home  nights. 
I  had  a  fox  last  season  for  hunting  purposes,  but  he 
did  not  give  satisfaction.  He  was  constantly  getting 
into  the  pound.  I  do  not  want  an  animal  of  that  kind. 
I  want  one  that  I  shall  always  know  where  I  can  put 
my  hand  upon  him  when  I  want  to  hunt. 

Nothing  can  be  more  annoying  than  to  be  compelled 


WANTED,  A  FOX 

to  go  to  the  pound  and  redeem  a  fox,  when  a  party  is 
mounted  and  waiting  to  hunt  him. 

I  do  not  care  so  much  for  the  gait  of  a  fox,  whether 
he  lopes,  trots  or  paces,  so  that  his  feet  are  sound  and 
his  wind  good.  I  bought  a  light-red  fox  two  years 
ago  that  had  given  perfect  satisfaction  the  previous 
year,  but  when  we  got  ready  to  hunt  him  he  went  lame 
in  the  off  hind  foot  and  crawled  under  a  hen  bouse 
back  of  my  estate,  where  he  remained  till  the  hunt  was 
over. 

What  I  want  is  a  young,  flealess  fox  of  the  dark  red 
or  iron-gray  variety,  that  I  can  depend  upon  as  a  good 
roadster;  one  that  will  come  and  eat  out  of  my  hand 
and  yearn  to  be  loved. 

I  would  like  also  a  tall,  red  horse  with  a  sawed-off 
tail;  one  that  can  jump  a  barbed  wire  fence  without 
mussing  it  up  with  fragments  of  his  rider.  Any  one 
who  may  have  such  a  horse  or  pipless  fox  will  do  well 
to  communicate  with  me  in  person  or  by  letter,  enclos- 
ing references.  I  may  be  found  during  the  summer 
months  on  my  estate,  spread  out  under  a  tree,  engaged 
in  thought. 

E.  FITZWILLIAM  NYE. 

Slipperyelmhurst,  Staten  Island,  N,  Y, 


IMITATED. 

Say !    you     feller ! 

You— 

With  that  spade 
and  the  pick!  — 
What  do  you  'pose 

to  do 
On   this  side   c' 

the  crick? 
Goin'  to  tackle  this  claim?     Well,  I  reckon 

You'll  let  up  agin  purty  quick! 
No  bluff,  understand, — 

But  the  same  has  been  tried, 
And  the  claim  never  panned — 

Or  the  fellers  has  lied, — 
For  they  tell  of  a  dozen  that  tried  it, 
And  quit  it  most  onsatisfied. 
326 


SUITER'S  CLAIM  227 

The  luck's  dead  agin  it! — 

The  first  man  I  see 
That  stuck  a  pick  in  it 

Proved  that  thing  to  me, — 
For  he  sorto  took  down,  and  got  homesick, 

And  went  back  whar  he'd  orto  be! 

Then  others  they  worked  it     • 

Some — more  or  less, 
But  finally  shirked  it, 

In  grades  of  distress, — 
With  an  eye  out — a  jaw  or  skull  busted, 

Or  some  sort  o'  seriousness. 

The  last  one  was  plucky — 

He  wasn't  afeerd, 
And  bragged  he  was  "lucky," 

And  said  that  "he'd  heerd 
A  heep  of  bluff-talk,"  and  swore  awkard 

He'd  work  any  claim  that  he  keered! 

Don't  you  strike  nary  lick 

With  that  pick  till  I'm  through; 
This-here  feller  talked  slick 

And  as  peart-like  as  you! 
And  he  says:  "I'll  abide  here 

As  long  as  I  please!" 
But  he  didn't  .   .  .  He  died  here — 

And  I'm  his  disease! 


Seeking  to  Be  Identified 


CHICAGO,  Feb.  20,  1888. 

FINANCIAL  circles 

here  have  been  a 
good  deal  interested 
in  the  discovery  of  a 
cipher  which  was 
recently  adopted  by 
a  depositor  and 
which  began  to  at- 
tract the  attention  at 
first  of  a  gentleman 
employed  in  the 
Clearing-House.  He 
was  telling  me  about 
it  and  showing  me 
the  vouchers  or  duplicates  of  them. 

It  was  several  months  ago  that  he  first  noticed  on 
the  back  of  a  check  passing  through  the  Cleai  ing- 
House  the  following  cipher,  written  in  a  symmetrical, 
Gothic  hand: 

DEAR  SIR: — Herewith  find  payment  for  last  month's 
butter.  It  was  hardly  up  to  the  average.  Why  do 
you  blonde  your  butter?  Your  butter  last  month  ti  ied 
to  assume  an  effeminate  air,  which  certainly  was  nut 
consistent  with  its  great  vigor.  Is  it  not  possible  that 
this  butter  is  the  brother  to  what  we  had  the  month 
previous,  and  that  it  was  exchanged  for  its  sister  by 

228 


SEEKING    TO    BE    IDENTIFIED  229 

mistake?  We  have  generally  liked  your  butter  very 
much,  but  we  will  have  to  deal  elsewhere  if  you  are 
going  to  encourage  it  in  wearing  a  full  beard. 

Yours  truly,  W. 

Moneyed  men  all  over  Chicago  and  financial  crypto- 
grammers  came  to  read  the  curious  thing  and  to  try 
and  work  out  its  bearing  on  trade.  Everybody  took  a 
look  at  it  and  went  away  defeated.  Even  the  men 
who  were  engaged  in  trying  to  figure  out  the  identity 
of  the  Snell  murderer,  took  a  day  off  and  tried  their 
Waterbury  thinkers  on  this  problem.  In  the  midst  of 
it  all  another  check  passed  through  the  Clearing- 
House  with  this  cipher,  in  the  same  hand: 

SIR:  — Your  bill  for  the  past  month  is  too  much. 
You  forget  the  eggs  returned  at  the  end  of  second 
week,  for  which  you  were  to  give  me  credit.  The 
cook  broke  one  of  them  by  mistake,  and  then  threw  up 
the  portfolio  of  pie-founder  in  our  once  joyous  home. 
I  will  not  dock  you  for  loss  of  cook,  but  I  cannot  allow 
you  for  the  eggs.  How  you  succeed  in  dodging  quar- 
antine with  eggs  like  that  is  a  mystery  to  yours  truly, 

W. 

Great  excitement  followed  the  discovery  of  this 
indorsement  on  a  check  for  $32.87.  Everybody  who 
knew  anything  about  ciphering  was  called  in  to  con- 
sider it.  A  young  man  from  a  high  school  near  here, 
who  made  a  specialty  of  mathematics  and  pimples, 
and  who  could  readily  tell  how  long  a  shadow  a  nine- 
pound  ground-hog  would  cast  at  2  o'clock  and  37  min- 
utes p.  m.,  on  ground-hog  day,  if  sunny,  at  the  town 
of  Fungus,  Dak.,  provided  latitude  and  longitude  and 
an  irregular  mass  of  red  chalk  be  given  to  him,  was 
secured  to  jerk  a  few  logarithms  in  the  interests  of 
trade.  He  came  and  tried  it  for  a  few  days,  covered 


230  SEEKING    TO    BE    IDENTIFIED 

the  interior  of  the  Exposition  Building  with  figures 
and  then  went  away. 

The  Pinkerton  detectives  laid  aside  their  literary 
work  on  the  great  train  book,  entitled  "The  Jerkwater 
Bank  Robbery  and  other  Choice  Crimes,"  by  the 
author  of  "How  I  Traced  a  Lame  Man  through 
Michigan  and  other  Felonies."  They  grappled 
with  the  cipher,  and  several  of  them  leaned 
up  against  something  and  thought  for  a  long  time, 
but  they  could  make  neither  head  nor  tail  to  it. 
Ignatius  Donnelly  took  a  powerful  dose  of  kumiss,  and 
under  its  maddening  influence  sought  to  solve  the 
great  problem  which  threatened  to  engulf  the  national 
surplus.  All  was  in  vain.  Cowed  and  defeated,  the 
able  conservators  of  coin,  who  require  a  man  to  be 
identified  before  he  can  draw  on  his  overshoes  at 
sight,  had  to  acknowledge  if  this  thing  continued  it 
threatened  the  destruction  of  the  entire  national 
fabric. 

About  this  time  I  was  calling  at  the  First  National 
Bank  of  Chicago,  the  greatest  bank,  if  I  am  not  mis- 
taken, in  America.  I  saw  the  bonds  securing  its  issue 
of  national  currency  the  other  day  in  Washington,  and 
I  am  quite  sure  the  custodian  told  me  it  was  the  great- 
est of  any  bank  in  the  Union.  Anyway,  it  was 
sufficient,  so  that  I  felt  like  doing  my  banking  business 
there  whenever  it  became  handy  to  do  so. 

I  asked  for  a  certificate  of  deposit  for  $2,000,  and 
had  the  money  to  pay  for  it,  but  I  had  to  be  identified. 
"Why,"  I  said  to  the  receiving  teller,  "surely  you 
don't  require  a  man  to  be  identified  when  he  deposits 
money,  do  your 

"Yes,  that's  the  idea." 

"Well,  isn't  that  a  new  twist  on  the  crippled  indus- 
tries of  this  country  £.' 


SEEKING    TO    BE   IDENTIFIED  231 

"No;  that's  our  rule.  Hurry  up,  please,  and  don't 
keep  men  waiting  who  have  money  and  know  how  to 
do  business." 

"Well,  I  don't  want  to  obstruct  business,  of  course, 
but  suppose,  for  instance,  I  get  myself  identified  by  a 
man  I  know  and  a  man  you  know,  and  a  man  who  can 
leave  his  business  and  come  here  for  the  delirious  joy 
of  identifying  me,  and  you  admit  that  I  am  the  man  I 
claim  to  be,  corresponding  as  to  description,  age,  sex, 
etc.,  with  the  man  I  advertise  myself  to  be,  how  would 
it  be  about  your  ability  to  identify  yourself  as  the  man 
you  claim  to  be?  I  go  all  over  Chicago,  visiting  all  the 
large  pork-packing  houses  in  search  of  a  man  I  know, 
and  who  is  intimate  with  literary  people  like  me,  and 
finally  we  will  say  I  find  one  who  knows  me  and  who 
knows  you,  and  whom  you  know,  and  who  can  leave 
his  leaf  lard  long  enough  to  come  here  and  identify 
me  all  right.  Can  you  identify  yourself  in  such  a  way 
that  when  I  put  in  my  $2,000  you  will  not  loan  it  upon 
insufficient  security  as  they  did  in  Cincinnati  the  other 
day,  as  soon  as  I  go  out  of  town?" 

"Oh,  we  don't  care  especially  whether  you  trade 
here  or  not,  so  that  you  hurry  up  and  let  other  people 
have  a  chance.  Where  you  make  a  mistake  is  in  try- 
ing to  rehearse  a  piece  here  instead  of  going  out  to 
Lincoln  Park  or  somewhere  in  a  quiet  part  of  the  city. 
Our  rules  are  that  a  man  who  makes  a  deposit  here 
must  be  identified." 

"All  right.     Do  you  know  Queen  Victoria?" 

"No,  sir;  I  do  not." 

"Well,  then,  there  is  no  use  in  disturbing  her.  Do 
you  know  any  of  the  other  crowned  heads?" 

"No,  sir." 


232 


SEEKING    TO    BE    IDENTIFIED 


"Well,  then,  do  you  know  Piesident  Cleveland,  or 
any  of  the  Cabinet,  or  the  Senate  or  members  of  the 
House?" 

"No." 

"That's  it,  you  see.  I  move  in  one  set  and  you  in 
another,  What  respectable  people  do  you  know?" 


"I'll  have  to  ask  you  to  stand  aside,  I  guess,  and 
give  that  string  of  people  a  chance.  You  have  no 
right  to  take  up  my  time  in  this  way.  The  rules  of  the 
bank  are  inflexible.  We  must  know  who  you  are, 
even  before  we  accept  your  deposit." 


SEEKING    TO    BE    IDENTIFIED 


233 


I  then  drew  from  my  pocket  a  copy  of  the  Sunday 
World,  which  contained  a  voluptuous  picture  of 
myself.  Removing  my  hat  and  making  a  court  salaam 
by  letting  out  four  additional  joints  in  my  lithe  and 
versatile  limbs,  I  asked  if  any  further  identification 
would  be  necessary. 


Hastily  closing  the  door  to  the  vault  and  jerking  the 
combination,  he  said  that  would  be  satisfactory.  I 
was  then  permitted  to  deposit  in  the  bank. 

1  do  not  know  why  I  should  always  be  regarded  with 
suspicion  wherever  I  go.  I  do  not  present  the  appear- 
ance of  a  man  who  is  steeped  in  crime,  and  yet  when 
I  put  my  trivial  little  two-gallon  valise  on  the  seat  of  a 


234:  SEEKING    TO    BE   IDENTIFIED 

depot- waiting-room  a  big  man  with  a  red  moustache 
comes  to  me  and  hisses  through  his  clinched  teeth: 
"Take  yer  baggage  off  the  seat!!"  It  is  so  every- 
where. I  apologize  for  disturbing  a  ticket  agent  long 
enough  to"  sell  me  a  ticket,  and  he  tries  to  jump 
through  a  little  brass  wicket  and  throttle  me.  Other 
men  come  in  and  say:  "Give  me  a  ticket  for  Bando- 
line, O.,  and  be  dam  sudden  about  it,  too,"  and  they 
get  their  ticket  and  go  aboard  the  car  and  get  the  best 
seat,  while  I  am  begging  for  the  opportunity  to  buy  a 
seat  at  full  rates  and  then  ride  in  the  wood-box.  I 
believe  that  common  courtesy  and  decency  in  America 
need  protection.  Go  into  an  hotel  or  a  hotel,  which- 
ever suits  the  eyether  and  nyether  readers  of  these 
lines,  and  the  commercial  man  who  travels  for  a  big 
sausage-casing  house  in  New  York  has  the  bridal 
chamber,  while  the  meek  and  lowly  minister  of  the 
Gospel  gets  a  wall-pocket  room  with  a  cot,  a  slippery- 
elm  towel,  a  cake  of  cast-iron  soap,  a  disconnected 
bell,  a  view  of  the  laundry,  a  tin  roof  and  $4  a  day. 

But  I  digress.  I  was  speaking  of  the  bank  check 
cipher.  At  the  First  National  Bank  I  was  shown 
another  of  these  remarkable  indorsements.  It  read  as 
follows . 

DEAR  SIR: — This  will  be  your  pa)'  for  chickens  and 
other  fowls  received  up  to  the  first  of  the  present 
month.  Time  is  working  wondrous  changes  in  your 
chickens.  They  are  not  such  chickens  as  we  used  to 
get  of  you  before  the  war.  They  may  be  the  same 
chickens,  but  oh!  how  changed  by  the  lapse  of  time! 
How  much  more  indestructible!  How  they  have 
learned  since  then  to  defy  the  encroaching  tooth  of 
remorseless  ages,  or  any  other  man !  Why  do  you  not 
have  them  tender  like  your  squashes?  I  found  a  blue 


SEEKING   TO   BE   IDENTIFIED  23d 

•poker  chif  in  your  butter  this  week.  What  shall  I 
credit  myself  for  it?  If  you  would  try  to  work  your 
butter  more  and  your  customers  less  it  would  be  highly 
appreciated,  especially  by,  yours  truly,  W. 

Looking  at  the  signature  on  the  check  itself,  I  found 
it  to  be  that  of  Mrs.  James  Wexford,  of  this  city. 
Knowing  Mr.  Wexford,  a  wealthy  and  influential  pub- 
lisher here,  I  asked  him  to-day  if  he  knew  anything 
about  this  matter.  He  said  that  all  he  knew  about  it 
was  that  his  wife  had  a  separate  bank  account,  and  had 
asked  him  several  months  ago  what  was  the  use  of  all 
the  blank  space  on  the  back  of  a  check,  and  why  it 
couldn't  be  used  for  correspondence  with  the  remittee. 
Mr.  Wexford  said  he'd  bet  $500  that  his  wife  had  been 
using  her  checks  that  way,  for  he  said  he  never  knew 
of  a  woman  who  could  possibly  pay  postage  on  a  note, 
remittance  or  anything  else  unless  every  particle  of 
the  surface  had  been  written  over  in  a  wild,  delirious, 
three-story  hand.  Later  on  I  found  that  he  was  right 
about  it.  His  wife  had  been  sassing  the  grocer  and 
the  butter-man  on  the  back  of  her  checks.  Thus 
ended  the  great  bank  mystery. 

I  will  close  this  letter  with  a  little  incident,  the  story 
of  which  may  not  be  so  startling,  but  it  is  true. 
It  is  a  story  of  child  faith.  Johnny  Quinlan,  of 
Evanston,  has  the  most  wonderful  confidence  in  the 
efficacy  of  prayer,  but  he  thinks  that  prayer  does  not 
succeed  unless  it  is  accompanied  with  considerable 
physical  strength.  He  believes  that  adult  prayer  is 
a  good  thing,  but  doubts  the  efficacy  of  juvenile 
prayer. 

He  has  wanted  a  Jersey  cow  for  a  good  while  and 
\ried  prayer,  but  it  didn't  seem  to  get  to  the  central 


236 


SEEKING    TO    BE    IDENTIFIED 


office. 


to  a  neighbor  who  is  a 
Christian  and 
believer  in  the 
efficacy  of 
prayer,  also 
the  owner  of 
a  Jersey  cow. 
"Do  you  be- 
lieve  that 
prayer  will 
bring  me  a 
yaller  J  er  sey 
cow?"  said  Johnny. 

"Why,  yes,  of  course. 
Prayer  will  remove  moun- 
tains. It  will  do  any- 
thing." 

"Well,  then,  suppose 
you  give  me  the  cow 
you've  got  and  pray  for 
another  one." 


THE  OLD  CIDER  MILL. 

If  I  could  be  a  boy  again 
For  fifteen  minutes,  or  even  ten, 
I'd  make  a  bee-line  for  that  old  mill, 
Hidden  by  tangled  vines  down  by  the  rill, 
Where  the  apples  were  piled  in  heaps  all  'round, 
Red,  streaked  and  yellow  all  over  the  ground ; 
And  the  old  sleepy  horse  goes  round  and  round 
And  turns  the  wheels  while  the  apples  are  ground. 

Straight  for  that  old  cider  mill  I'd  start, 

With  light  bare  feet  and  lighter  heart, 

A  smiling  face,  a  big  straw  hat, 

Hum  made  breeches  and  all  o'  that. 

And  when  I  got  there  I  would  just  take  a  peep, 

To  see  if  old  cider  mill  John  was  asleep, 

And  if  he  was  I'd  go  snooking  round 

Till  a  great  big  round  rye  straw  I'd  found ; 

I'd  straddle  a  barrel  and  quick  begin 

To  fill  with  cider  right  up  to  my  chin. 

As  old  as  I  am,  I  can  shut  my  eyes 

And  see  the  yellow-jackets,  bees  and  flies 

A-s warming  'round  the  juicy  cheese, 

And  bung-holes ;  drinking  as  much  as  they  please, 

I  can  see  the  clear  sweet  cider  flow 

From  the  press  above  to  the  tub  below, 

And  a-steaming  up  into  my  old  nose 

Comes  the  smell  that  only  a  cider  mill  knows. 


238 


You  may  talk  about  your  fine  old  Crow, 
Your  champagne,  sherry,  and  so  and  so, 
But  of  all  the  drinks  of  press  or  still, 
Give  me  the  juice  of  that  old  cider  mill, 
A  smalf  boy's  energy  and  suction  power 
For  just  ten  minutes  or  quarter  of  an  hour, 
And  the  happiest  boy  you  ever  saw 
You'd  find  at  the  end  of  that  rye  straw, 
And  I'll  forego  forevennore 
All  liquors  known  on  this  earthly  shore. 

— Anonymous 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FATII ITY 

lillllliittiiiH 
lllilllHIII 

A    001  385  804    8 


